ThatDeziGirl

"Show 'er a bit of spine." Dean jokes, a small smile on his face. "Hell no. She'd die from a hellhound before she saw my asscheeks."

Sam groans as his big, beautiful curved dick (mmmh) slams into your soft walls, soft and pliable—stretchable, along with his hips. Your hole is stretched tight around his cock, the cock that's sliding in 'n out with slick smeared everywhere—only making the slide effortless with the greedy suck of your cunt.

The tingle that felt like heaven on earth started in your cunt, but who would you be to resist the spread of the stellar feeling, pulsing and releasing all over your body that was Sam's and Sam's only.

You're moaning like you're in a porn film, lights and all the works, but except, Sam's dick is just that good. Your eyes are rolling back, hair sticking to your flushed face, as he continues the unrelentless thrusts that sent shocks through you on each drag of his meaty, thick cock against your walls, hitting that spot deeeeep inside of you that made the drag so easy and slick, mmmh.

"Uh, uh, mmm, deeper, f-fuck, pound m-me," you choke out through the thick tears of pleasure, so, stellar, thick and fucking good.

"Baby," Sam breathes out, tone ragged, low, and oh so sexy. "Goin' as fast as I can."

"Oh—ah."

Sam wishes you could see your face right now. It's fuckin' sexy, pure, unfiltered bliss that you would see on porno mags and erotic ads, and all he wants to do was fill you up with his babies.

Think, the kid a mix of him and you, maybe two, how you would get so beautiful an' soft and round because of him—because he bred you. The way to describe it? A primal urge that came from early humans.

His hips are still slamming into yours with a obscenely loud squelch, bubbles and heaps of wetness, the proud, milky white ring around his cock...

"Sam..." you say, with no exact reason, just to feel the silky sound of his name to roll off your tongue. "Feels, so, uh, good."

"That's right..." he coos. "'ts supposed to, baby."

The pressure in his stomach, everywhere, tingling, zapping, jolting like a facility of electricity spreads through his body.

"Mm, 'boutta..."

"Inside! Pleaseeee."

God, he always wants a fuckin' girl who begs. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan as he buries himself as deep as he could inside you, the rippling squeeze of your walls giving him an indicator of how deep he was (hint: very, very, ugh, deep), the warm tug in him spreading like butter on hot toast, so, warm, and...

His eyes rolled back into his head as he let out a long and (un)sexy moan, (shush, he'd watched porn before) drawn out, low, and mmh, feeling himself spill inside you in pulses as the warmth spreads. Spurt, by hot spurt.

Your legs spasm as you feel the cum deep inside you—something that you would never forget, as the spread of it made your insides warm, as he slid out with a wet pop.

A part of him is screaming that this is too good to be true. That sooner or later something is gonna happen that will make this all go up in flames. That his relationship not just to you but also to his brother will be destroyed beyond repair. Good things don't just happen to Sam Winchester. He's always known that.

Other things Sam knows to be absolutely true: he came the first time he watched you come. In fact, he can pretty much get off just from watching you squirm, hearing you pant and moan. He's always liked that - every girlfriend he's ever had was pretty happy about that part, the part where Sam just loves making them come over and over in any way. 

But he's never been down as bad as with you. Maybe because you're so confident in taking pleasure, chasing it. It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet for him when he's been starving. 

Most days since you moved in, Sam wakes with your hand already in his PJ bottoms, pumping his cock. It's how he goes to sleep at night too - with your sounds and tastes and sensations still on his tongue. He holds you close as you both drift off. He keeps waiting for you to get over him or get bored or whatever. But it doesn't happen.

Then that night happened. When you came back from using the bathroom the night you first met Dean and John, after having the most awkward family dinner in human history, something had gotten into you. You pretty much ravished Sam, were on him immediately, so wet as to be dripping.

Sam started suggesting that you wanted his father and brother to hear you and him fuck, and saw the effect it had on you. When he said that maybe you wanted them to have a go at you too, you came, harder and louder than ever before.

Sometimes Sam wonders if he should feel weird about the whole thing. If he should feel threatened by that. But he simply doesn't. He knows you're his. Another thing he knows for sure: you love him, and he loves you.

There wasn’t one specific moment where the two of you decided that you wanted to get caught. It was a crescendo of both of you leaning more and more into that fantasy. Dean and John are always out a lot, so Sam and you often have the house to yourself. So most of the time there wasn’t a real risk. 

Sam would kneel on the couch between your legs and eat you out for hours, until the fabric under you is drenched. More than once you’ve sunken to your knees somewhere where anyone could walk in at any point, taken him into your mouth while looking up at him with half closed eyes. It never happened. Until it did.

Maybe Sam always knew that Dean would end up being involved at some point. Like, really involved. He assumed he’d be into it, but he didn’t know how much he was until you were riding Dean, Sam’s cock muffling your sounds. It wasn’t until he saw how hard you came with both of them inside you that Sam realized this was what had always been the end goal. He remembers the giddy feeling in his chest now, at seeing all that pleasure in you, how happy you were afterwards.

So, yes, the weeks since have been like some sort of amazing fever dream that just won’t end. Dean was shy in the beginning, about the mechanics of it all, and it warms Sam’s heart to see how much more confident he seems to feel. You and he tease each other, and he gets to hold you, kiss you before and after, but when you’re not in the moment, the two of you act just like good friends. And Dean doesn't seem to mind. Sam isn’t super shocked that Dean is happy with not having the responsibilities of actually being in the relationship. It’s kind of who he is.

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon when the next thing happens. The thing that Sam knows you’ve been thinking about, but neither of you has really addressed. The thing he’s not sure how to feel about until it happens.

Because Sam and Dean are close, closer maybe than any other two people in the world. It just sort of makes sense for Dean to be there. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve intimately shared space. Never the same woman, not even Rachel, Sam’s prom date, because she didn’t even let him get to third base, but Sam has spent more than one night being kept up by Dean getting laid in his immediate vicinity. He’s been there for many of his brother’s sexual misadventures.

So when he enters you, sliding in perfectly smoothly because of how wet his brother has made you, that just makes sense. Or when you take him in deeper because Dean is fucking you faster, because you’re being rocked back and forth between the two, making sinful sounds, moaning their names around Sam’s dick - nothing feels wrong about that. It all feels perfectly right.

On this particular afternoon, you’re on your back. The three of you are in Dean’s room today and you’re spread open, two of Sam’s fingers pressed into you, his knuckles glistening with your wetness and Dean’s on your other side, as you’re just sticking out your tongue, running it over the underside of his balls. It’s a scenario that feels as natural as breathing at this point.

Sam’s pretty sure that what happens happens only because all of you are in Dean’s room. His father wouldn’t barge into Sam’s room the way he does Dean’s. Not because John doesn’t think he has the right to, but because Sam gives him more grief over it, and sometimes he just doesn’t want to deal with that. It’s also because it’s now your room as well, and John at least has the decency to respect that.

That’s the other thing - Sam isn’t dumb. He’s seen the way his father looks at you. The long, lingering stares with his beer bottle halfway raised to his mouth. The way his face goes all soft when he watches you make dinner or make Sam and Dean laugh or when you call him “Mr. Winchester” again. Has seen the way he flexes his fist when Sam kisses you in front of him.

And when you talked about being walked in on, or about the other Winchester men getting a turn at ruining you, you talked about Dean and John. Sam hasn’t forgotten that. He’s simply tabled the thought.

They hear John exactly three seconds before he opens the door. He calls something out to Dean about his car keys, his truck not starting and Dean’s fingers freeze where they’re rolling one of your nipples between them and Sam’s fingers freeze too while he’s thrusting them into you. Only you don’t stop. It could just be that you’re not as conditioned to freeze at the sound of John’s voice, but Sam knows you better than that at this point.

The door flies open, and your lips are still on Dean’s balls. At least for consistency, John freezes too. His mouth is opened to say something else when he stops dead just inside the room, eyes glued to the scene in front of him.

At last, you move your lips off Dean, but it’s only to push yourself up on your elbows, tits and hard nipples on perfect display. Sam watches you raise your eyebrows at John and it thrills him to no end, makes him stare at you in awe. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing in the world you’re afraid of. He thinks he loves you more in that moment than he ever has, despite the fact that his heart is beating so hard he can hear it in his ears.

“What the fuck…” John mumbles, but then his eyes go to your chest and he licks his lips. 

“Hey, Mr. Winchester,” you say then, your tone perfectly striking a balance between porn starlet and that’s what you get for not knocking. Sam wants to grab your face and kiss it. 

Sam sees the confusion on his father’s face and he can honestly say that’s probably the first time anyone’s ever seen John Winchester lost for words. Sam blinks in surprise when he feels you nudge him with your knee and you’re looking at him when he turns.

“Keep going, baby,” you say, the words accompanied by a cheeky little lip bite. “I was close.”

Sam feels the corners of his mouth twitch. Could he? Could he just keep going? He looks down at where his fingers are just outside of your pussy, then looks back at your face. Your pupils are so big as to almost hide all the color of your irises. You’re into this. You’re into the thought of John being there.

Sam pushes his fingers into you again and you drop your head back, moan. You’re warm and tight and wet and Sam pulls his fingers out, stroking them across your front wall when he does. You gasp a little, eyes falling shut. So Sam keeps going. Because what the hell else is he gonna do?

Sam’s not looking at Dean or John, is concentrating only on you, but he can hear their heavy breathing, the only other sounds in the room except for your moans and the wet sounds of him finger-fucking you. He keeps going, watches you climb the hill of pleasure, all the little signs that tell him you’re getting closer. It’s the most sensual display. 

You start moaning loudly, rolling your hips, drop a little lower, the back of your head now resting against Dean’s chest. He still seems frozen but Sam can’t even think about that as he feels you clench down on him, so desperate to be filled more, making his cock twitch and fill, reminding him he’s up for the task. But he wants you to come first, because he loves how strung out you look when he fucks you right after you’ve come.

Which is what you do - legs pulled up, chest heaving, high-pitched whimpers that let Sam know it’s an intense one leaving you. You press yourself down against his hand, even though there’s nothing more he can give you, he’s up to his knuckles and then you slump back, still grinding yourself against him, catching your breath.

He pulls his fingers from you, intent on simply wiping them on the sheet below, but you don’t let him go far. You grab his wrist, bring his hand up to your face and the next second you’re wrapping your lips around him, sucking your juices off of him. Sam groans low in his throat, but just as Dean raises his hands, suddenly freed from his stupor, cups your breasts, there’s another sound.

It’s another groan, and it comes from John. You must notice too because you blink your eyes open, lids low, and turn your head to look at him again.

Sam sees your eyes roam John's body and then stop at what is clearly a growing bulge in his jeans. A small smile twitches on your lips and then you turn back to Sam, look into his eyes.

He could say no. He could cut this all off here. You’d definitely be disappointed, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t hold it against him - it’s a lot to ask, after all. Sam knows that, you know it, Dean knows it. The question is if John knows it too. Only one way to find out, Sam thinks. Because he wants to give you this. Wants to see you turned inside out from everything he's given you. 

So he nods slowly. Your eyes widen, and Sam likes that, likes that you maybe sort of expected him to stop there, let that be it. That he can still surprise you like that. Then the biggest smile spreads on your face as you give a small nod back.

You push yourself up, feet landing on the ground and then you stand. You’re naked and Sam sees John’s eyes roam over you, taking in everything from your soft skin to your glistening thighs to your flushed chest. His throat contracts as he swallows.

You step close to him, and then land your hand on his chest. It travels up, slowly, all the way to his face. John’s not exactly clean-shaven but he’s been more groomed for a while now. Sam wonders if he’s trying to look younger.

“You should really grow this out,” you say in a low, sultry voice, fingertips scratching over John’s stubble. “I think it would look really sexy.” John takes a sharp breath through his nose.

“I’ve been trying to get your boys to let theirs grow too,” you say, fingers moving to John’s neck while he looks down at you like he’s about ready to tear you apart, especially when you lean in a little for what you say next. “I like the way it feels when they’re… down there.”

John clenches his jaw, and Sam has to give it to his father. He would have already grabbed you and pushed himself inside of you. Your hand wanders lower again, over the row of buttons of John’s shirt and then your fingers are catching on the buckle of his belt.

“I wonder if you look the same as them,” you just say, and then John’s hand shoots up, wrapping around your wrist.

“Is this some kind of game?” he presses out through gritted teeth. Paranoid idiot, Sam thinks. He can’t ever believe it when something good happens. He swallows when he realizes the similarity to himself.

“No games,” you say, your second hand going up and cupping John’s crotch, at which he takes another sharp breath. “I promise.”

John waits one more second, then lets go of your wrist. It’s all the encouragement you need. You open his belt and then his jeans, practiced and fast, and then you go down to your knees. You lick your lips as you take John out of his pants. You stick your tongue out then, give it a cursory lick which makes John’s breathing shudder.

You don’t waste any time. You wrap your lips around the head of John’s cock, begin slowly bobbing back and forth. Sam knows the feeling exactly - how wet your mouth is, how soft your lips. That moan that leaves you right then, low in your throat, he knows what the vibrations of it feel like traveling through him. He feels his own cock twitch, throws a careful look at Dean. He’s been deadly quiet, but he is watching with the same rapt attention. Fuck it, Sam thinks, all or nothing. His hand wanders down his body and he gives himself a few tugs. No shame or horror comes after, so he keeps going, especially when your mouth makes a pornographic wet sound. 

John’s eyes have fallen shut, and just then his hand goes to the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair. You’re using one hand to stroke him at the same time, pulling all that pleasure from him, and you don’t stop the movement when you move your mouth off him, look up. John blinks his eyes open, looks down at you.

“You taste so nice, Mr. Winchester,” you say, voice a little raw, and it makes Sam feel the good kind of dizzy. Maybe he should have you call him that, too, he thinks, before he almost laughs at himself. Maybe something for another time. 

You run your tongue along John, keep stroking him, before looking up again.

“Wonder if you would feel as nice inside me?” you ask, voice almost innocent, like you’re talking about the weather. It makes the whole thing that much more illicit.

“Fuck,” John curses, low and breathless. He reaches down, grabs your shoulder and for a second Sam wonders if he should intervene, but then he sees John is spinning you around.

“On all fours, sweetheart,” he pants and you immediately comply. “Let me see your sweet ass.” 

You’re grinning and biting your lip and Sam almost shakes his head in wonder. At how you’ve, once again, tided over the raging egos of all three men in this house. How you play them all like a fiddle and they don’t even notice.

John gets down on his knees behind you, and suddenly he seems frantic, hurried almost. One hand is on your ass, squeezing it, while he’s stroking himself with the other. Then John leans in closer and he must press himself into you, because just then your eyes fall shut and your mouth open.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as John makes a hissing sound. Sam can’t blame him. It’s how he felt when he entered you for the first time ever. He saw the look on Dean’s face, too. He couldn’t explain it if somebody paid him good money to, but there’s a before and after, and they are all in the after now.

John groans when he’s all the way seated inside of you, pushes against you as if testing and a joyful gasp leaves you. Sam tightens his grip where he’s stroking himself slowly. He’s pretty sure he can see out of the corner of his eye that Dean is doing the same. 

John’s hand snakes up your back, reveling in the feeling of your skin, until he finds your shoulder. Once he’s got a good hold on you, he pulls out a little before slamming himself back into you.

The sound you make is one of the best ones Sam has ever heard. It kind of sounds like you’ve hurt your tailbone, but it’s ecstatic. John pulls out again, then pushes himself into you again and then he’s found a rhythm.

It’s deep and hard and might worry Sam if he didn’t know that’s exactly what you like. There’s a loud slapping noise of skin meeting skin every time John thrusts into you and your whimpering isn’t dying down. You have your eyes closed and eyebrows drawn up, more uncontrolled sounds leaving you.

“So thick,” you pant out, apparently not able to form a full sentence. John pulls you back, making himself crash into you even harder, breathing hard, face in a snarl.

“Think I’m the only one in this house who doesn’t get a taste?” he grunts, also only half making sense. “Think you could keep this sweet, little pussy from me?”

You might have answered but exactly in that moment, your body begins shaking, trembling, as John fucks you into an intense orgasm. You’re gasping and whining, the climax long. It’s all Sam can take. 

He stands, walks over to you and gets on his knees in front of you. He’s pretty sure John throws him an angry look, but he doesn’t care. You must notice the movement because you open your eyes, just barely able to blink them open and Sam’s just barely assumed the position when one of the hands holding you up immediately goes to his cock, begins stroking him.

Dean’s the last to join, and if Sam had any part of his brain left that was able to think, he wouldn’t be surprised at that. Following Sam’s lead but not wanting to get into the way of John are his two major motivators. He kneels next to Sam and you lower your head, take his cock into your mouth where he’s offering it to you.

It’s uncoordinated and messy, but seeing you like this, so utterly ravished and unleashed - Sam’s never felt anything like it. He’s pretty sure this is what it’s like for people who have crazy religious experiences. He’s seeing the light or whatever. All words are lost on him.

John groans loudly as his head goes up, eyes squeezed shut, movement of his hips stuttering and it takes Sam a moment to understand he just came inside you. His head drops forward again, eyes still closed.

Sam could come in your hand or move your chin so he can come in your mouth. It’s not where he wants it, though. 

A surprised yelp leaves you when he wraps an arm around you, pulls you towards him, off John’s and Dean’s cocks.

“Sam–” his father growls, warning, but Sam doesn’t care. John’s not the one who gets to call the shots here - you and Sam are, and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna die if he isn’t inside of you within the next seconds.

He wants to get you to the bed, make you more comfortable, but it’s simply not an option right then. So he maneuvers you on your back, slots between your legs immediately. Your hands shoots between your bodies at the same time Sam’s does, but you’re quicker despite your fucked-out state. You find him, hard and leaking, lead him to your entrance. All Sam has to do is push forwards his hips.

He does, and then he’s in heaven. You cry out, and Sam leans down on his elbows, kisses you hard. At the same time he starts snapping his hips, pistoning against you. You moan loudly, wrap your arms around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Oh yes, baby,” you whine, your voice loud and clear in his head with how close your mouth is to his ear. Sam can feel his orgasm coming, can feel it creeping up his spine and as much as he wants nothing more than to fill you up with his come, he’s taken you high now and he’s not about to drop you.

So he changes his angle just a little, and it makes your head fall back, your neck stretch and only a second later, he feels the contractions, the squeezing, the almost painful bliss of feeling you come. 

You cry out, unintelligible words leaving you and Sam can hear Dean groan behind him, curse as he probably shoots into his hand, as if it’s him that can feel you squeezing him, not his brother. 

That’s the last thing Sam thinks. Because a second later, he thinks he nearly goes blind from how hard he comes. He shoots into you, spurts and spurts of it as his brain feels like it’s being rebooted.

He slumps forward, his body covering yours, as he pants like he just sprinted from one end of town to the other. You’re running your hands over his back, gently, and it’s all he feels, all he ever wants to feel. 

It feels like an eternity until he finally pushes himself up again. He’s softening and when he moves far enough to slip out of you, he looks down to between your legs. His and John’s come is leaking out of you and you cup your pussy, wincing but only for a second.

“I am gonna be so sore tomorrow,” you say, and then a goofy little giggle leaves you. Sam’s surprised when he sees Dean’s hand appear in his line of sight, holding a handful of tissues. Sam takes them, takes some to run along himself while he passes you the rest.

“Worth it though, huh?” Dean asks, tone cheeky and you grin up at him.

“Definitely worth it,” you reply and Sam can’t help the huff that escapes him.

All of you turn when you hear John move. He’s just closing his belt, not looking at any of you. His face is grave and set.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he says, voice low and raw. Don’t do this, Sam thinks, feeling a twinge in his chest. Don’t ruin this. Not this too.

“This was a misunderstanding,” John says, still not looking at any of you. “It’s… this is just…”

What? Sam thinks. Wrong? Perverted? Not normal? Maybe it’s not. But he doesn’t care. He opens his mouth but, once again, you’re quicker.

“I was actually hoping we could do this again, Mr. Winchester,” you say, and everyone turns to you. “It would be a real shame if this was a one-off.” 

John looks at you, his lips slightly moving. Sam’s not sure what it is, but there’s something on his father’s face he’s never seen before. To his surprise, it’s Dean who drags all of you out of the stalemate. He snorts, then chuckles and Sam turns to him.

“Just…” Dean says, shaking his head. “Mr. Winchester? I think we’re a little past the formalities at this point.” You chuckle too. 

Sam looks back at his father. For a second, he thinks he’s gonna double down. But then John sighs, runs a hand over his face.

“I need a drink,” he says. You shrug, smiling at him.

“I need a shower,” you say, holding John’s gaze. “And then a drink.” John looks back at you, and there’s that expression again. Soft, intimate. Open.

You break the eye contact and look up at Sam. His heart warms at it as you reach out your hand and he takes it, helps you stand. For a second, you’re unsteady on your legs so Sam slings his arms around you, holds you and you hug him back. He closes his eyes, hears John move, heavy boots leaving the room and then Dean is moving somewhere around you and him, mumbling something about grabbing a shower before you use up all the hot water. 

Sam barely hears it. His face is pressed into your hair, because it’s the only way he can hide the grin building on his face. 

Dean's not doing well, having you around all the time now since you moved in with the Winchesters. It bothers him how you come out of the shower only wearing that silky blue bathrobe that's almost see-through when the light hits just right. Or when you do your stretching exercises in the yoga pants with the cut-outs. Or when you scold him for leaving his clothes lying around the entire house. That last one, especially, he can't get over. He started leaving his things out on purpose. So you'd do it more often. 

He's been having a tough time focusing on anything, really, and sometimes he worries he's going to suffer from a circulatory collapse, with all of his blood rushing downstairs when he's too close to you for too long. It really has been hard.

Sure, he takes care of the raging boners you give him on a daily basis just from, well, being you. But it's getting more and more difficult to live off those scraps when you're so, so close. All the time.

It's the worst at night. When everything's quiet, and he hears you and Sam going at it like animals. During the day, he can just find something else to do. Get out of the house. But when he's lying in bed, eyes firmly pressed shut, and he hears that high-pitched moan that's seared into his brain by now, it drives him crazy. Once, on a Thursday night, he almost came without even touching himself, just from listening to the sounds you were making. You had a tiny little bite mark below your jaw the next morning, one that he only saw because he had to pick up the fork he dropped at breakfast when you bumped into him. He wondered what other marks your long-sleeved shirt was covering.

Somehow, having you living with the Winchesters is making things so much better and so much worse at the same time. The place has changed since then. It's livelier, lighter. You got a lamp shade for the living room, threw out all of the dusty rugs. Bought new decorative cushions for the sofa, which are hella cozy to nap on, even though Dean would never admit that to your face. And you got new sheets for the whole lot of them, saying something about wanting to set the old ones on fire. They're cozy as well, and they kinda smell like you. Somehow, most of the laundry does since you moved in. 

When you all have dinner together, which seems to be happening more often than in the previous three years combined, the atmosphere is light. You laugh at Dean's jokes, even though you always keep close to Sammy. You ask him how his day went. You even get John to chat sometimes. About himself. About his youth. About Mary. That's the good part.

The bad part is that Dean can't seem to get you off his mind. That very first time he met you he had thought it was just the fascination of something new. His little brother's older college girlfriend. But it wasn't. The more he got to know you, the more infatuated he had become. And instead of imagining you at the sorority charity car wash he had started daydreaming of you doing mundane things. Making coffee in the morning. Reading a book. Stroking his hair. It's innocent though, he tells himself. He wouldn't want to snatch you away from his brother. Sam seems so happy since he met you.

When you're not around, because you have classes, or are out and about with your friends, the mood in the entire house changes. Everyone seems on edge, aching for you to come back, even John. For you to cool down the flames that easily burn too hot when left unattended.

Dean stopped looking at the weather girl on page 13 a while ago to take care of his needs. He doesn't need her anymore. The picture of you in his head is all he wants, and it's so much better than anything a nudie mag could provide. 

Today, Dean sneaks off to the bathroom early in the morning, to go pee. He's gotta go whenever he gets the chance when he wakes up, because either his morning wood or the boner he's going to get when you and Sam start fucking might make it impossible at any given time. He quietly moves through the hall to go relieve himself, but then he notices that someone must've forgotten to turn off the light in the dining room. He moves over to the light switch, reaches out, and then he sees you. 

Lying on your back, sprawled across the dinner table. Illuminated only by the low-hanging lamp. Naked. Well, not technically naked, because that damn silky bathrobe is still on your arms, under your back. But it's open, and the sight of your tits, chest heaving, nearly makes him lose his mind. He barely notices Sam's head bobbing back and forth between your legs, because the way you're writhing on that table is just everything he's been dreaming of.

Dean reminds himself not to hold his breath. It's a good thing he's so used to the adrenaline pumping through his veins from hunting. It makes him go into hyper-focus mode. His eyes roam over your skin. Soft, glowing. There's a birthmark on the side of your right butt cheek, one that he'd never have seen if it weren't for… well, this. Now he knows. And he'll never forget. 

His gaze wanders up, over your stomach to your bellybutton and higher even. Your entire torso is moving up and down with how heavy you're breathing, and he just wants to run his tongue over you. All the way up to the valley of your breasts, he wants to know what it tastes like, what you taste like. Take a bite. Leave his mark on you. Right there, on the soft flesh beneath your collarbone. 

His eyes trace the natural lines of your body, up your neck that is so beautifully stretched with how your head is tilted back. So inviting. He wants to kiss you there, make you giggle. He's seen Sam do that to you twice already. He wants that for himself. Wants to explore you with his mouth, learn every curve and dip.

Your lips look so beautiful, plush, parted, he just wants to run his thumb over them, let you taste him, too. And just above those beautiful, rosy cheeks are your eyes. Big. Colorful. Vivid. And, he can't believe he's only noticing it now, they're looking right at him.

His first instinct is to hide. But he instantly realizes there's no use, you're looking straight at him. So he just freezes and stands there, quietly staring at your nakedness. You tilt your head a little more to him, your gaze soft. For a second he's scared you'll jump up, cover yourself and start yelling at him. But you don't. You smile. And you bite your lower lip. All while firmly holding his gaze.

Then your eyes flutter shut and a soft little moan leaves you, Sam must've done something you very much appreciate down there, and Dean thinks about just using the moment to vanish. Maybe you're still a little drowsy, maybe you'll think you just imagined him standing there, watching you while his brother is having breakfast early. But he just can't. His legs won't budge, he's hypnotized by the way your tits are moving up and down. 

You must be grinding yourself against Sam's face, because there's a tiny swaying motion to your body that's only explicable if you're doing something. He looks back at your face when your eyes open again. That's it, the moment for his escape has passed. And he's still standing there, mouth watering, pitching a tent.

He swallows. His eyes are glued to your lips, and then you speak. Not making any sound, but Dean has no trouble at all reading what you're saying off your lips.

Like what you see?

He blinks. His breathing is shallow, mouth dry. He must be dreaming. Wouldn't be the first time he dreamt something like this. He pinches himself in the arm, but he doesn't wake up. You're still lying there, watching him, and you look like you're waiting for him to answer. So he does. Nods.

Your smile widens. You like it. You fucking like being watched by him, in this vulnerable state, so close to being your most primal self. It makes Dean shiver. And then you speak again.

Touch yourself.

Dean's breath hitches. He's sure that's what you're mouthing. One hundred percent. He still hesitates.

For me. Please.

The way your lips move, silently, is so sensual, so pure and just the right amount of dirty at the same time. He's never seen anything like it. It compels him. And he knows he has to obey. He wants to. You're in control.

His hand finds its way into his boxers. His fingers close around his length, and he starts stroking himself immediately. He sees you inhale deeply, licking your lips as he follows your command. He can feel the muscles in his face twitching, his mouth drops open as he quickly feels release approaching. He'd be embarrassed by how quickly he's getting there if the whole situation wasn't so absurd.

You throw your arms up over your head, arching your back violently, writhing with pleasure. Another moan drops from your lips, betraying the intense pleasure you must be feeling. But you fight to keep your eyes open, focused on him, rubbing one out to the sight you're providing him with.

Dean comes when you do. He just shoots his load into his boxers, panting, but aware enough not to make a sound. It's taking everything out of him not to moan, but he knows he just can't. Even though this scene playing out right in front of his eyes is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

You, blissfully sighing, breathing heavily,  and that gorgeous little smile on your lips. It's better than it ever was in his imagination, and you're prettier like this than you've ever been. Cheeks flushed, eyes now finally fluttering shut.

Finally, Dean manages to snap out of his stupor. Looks down at the mess he made, wipes his hand off on his already stained boxers. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Sam's head moving up just in time to turn around and finally move out of sight. He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. To understand what just happened. And then he quickly and silently moves away from the dining room. He really should go pee now.

Dean skips breakfast. He takes the Impala's keys from the little bowl you make everyone keep their keys in and drives it a couple of streets down to an old lot next to a gas station. He gets out, walks a couple of steps, going in a circle. Stares at a cloud. Then he rolls up his sleeves, opens up the Impala's hood and gets to work. He's not entirely sure what he's looking for, but there's gotta be something he can fix. Right?

He spends at least an hour on the car, maybe two. It's a good distraction from the very vivid images of you, coming, that are playing on repeat in his head. But his mind keeps drifting back to the sounds you made, to your smile, to the way you ensorceled him to pleasure himself while you were staring at each other. You really cast your spell on him. 

He's going to have to talk to you. But how would that even work? Just talk to you, now that he's seen you like this. Now that the two of you have shared that. Behind Sammy's back.

He finally slams the hood shut, wipes sweat off his forehead and grease off his fingers. He sits in the car for a couple of minutes, hand on the ignition, but lacking the courage to actually start it. Then he shakes himself out off it and drives back home.

When he comes back, the house is quiet. There's nobody home. One of your coats is still hanging on the rack, but he knows you like to take the padded one when it's windy like today. Dean sighs in relief. Not that it changes anything, but he gets a little more time to gather his thoughts.

He throws his jacket onto the sofa, kicks off his boots. You're going to give him shit for that later. Or are you? Will things still be the same when you get back from wherever you are? Or has he broken this precious little thing you have going on? The thought alone makes him nauseous.

He shuffles down the hall, right to his room. Throws the door shut behind him and flings himself on the bed. He stares at the ceiling, not really thinking, but trying to. To come up with a way out of this mess that's not going to hurt Sam. He lets his gaze roam. To the framed picture of the three of you that you got him, from the day you took the boys ice skating. Dean had landed on his rear more times than he could count, but he had gotten to hold your hand as you tried to teach him how to stay on his feet and all of you got hot cocoa spiked with rum afterwards. It was a good day. He likes the picture, it gives his room a much more… composed vibe. Then his gaze wanders over the door and he finally sees the note stuck to the inside of his door.

He immediately recognizes your handwriting. He jumps up, crosses the room in two strides and rips it off.

It's written on one of those purple sticky notes that you keep on the fridge, the ones you use to write down the grocery list or to leave cute little messages for your boyfriend sometimes. But this one, this one's addressed to him. 

Dean. Meet me back here at 11 pm. xx

His heart starts racing. He just keeps staring at the note, as if somehow, if he stared long enough, it would change its meaning. You want to meet him. In the middle of the night. In his room.

And you're sending him kisses. You've never done that before. Well, you've never written him a note before. Except for the grocery list. It feels intimate. He likes it. It also feels wrong.

Dean swallows. What does this mean? Do you just want to talk? And keep it hidden from Sam? Or are you… suggesting something? Are you trying to get him to do more of whatever this was? 

He racks his brain. Do you know? That he's been listening to the sweet, sultry sounds you make when Sam gets to work on you? That he's been fantasizing about you non-stop? It sure looked like it this morning, like you knew exactly what was going on. 

He shakes his head. Continues staring at the note. xx. You want him. And he's not sure that's something he could deny you.

Dean's on edge for the rest of the day. He spends most of the time outside. Lounges around at the diner with the brunette waitress that always lets him peek at her bra when she pours him coffee. Gets himself a second slice of blueberry pie. But nothing seems to be able to distract him, no matter how hard he tries.

He knows he's gonna have to go back home and face the music sometime. He is going to have to talk to you about this, and sooner rather than later. But he just doesn't know what he would say, if he could get the words out. Is he even sure what you're going to say? Is this really you telling him that you want him? That you want to fuck him? Or is he starting to confuse porn with reality again?

Sure. He's been fantasizing about you. About being the one who gets you to make all of those sultry sounds he's been hearing without cease. It's been your face he's been superimposing on the women he has had sex with ever since he laid eyes on you. But that was just it. Those were fantasies. This? This is really you. You, his little brother's girlfriend. Someone who's strictly off-limits. 

He walks along the road to the house in the dark, kicking a soda can all the way up to the doorstep. At the door, he fidgets with his keys, trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as he can. Then he takes a deep breath, unlocks the door and goes in.

He's going to tell you. That you're the hottest little thing that has crossed his path in a while, and that he wants you, like, really wants you. That he wants you to have him. But that it's just not something that can ever happen. It's something he could never do to Sam. Because he knows how much Sam cares for you, how much you've already changed the lives of all the Winchesters, and that's something Dean can't ruin. Even if it means he's gotta put his happiness behind Sammy's.

He looks at the clock as he kicks his boots off. 11:17. He stares at the ceiling, mumbles an ejaculatory prayer and goes to his room.

When his hand lands on the door handle, he hears it. It's a quiet little sigh, but his ears have been trained to it. He can't believe it. Are you really in there, maybe even in his bed, touching yourself?

He should have just turned around and gone out again. Left you there. But his body is quicker than his brain, and his hand presses down on the handle, and then he's standing in his room.

There you are. On his bed, shirt pushed up a little so your belly is exposed. But the hand pressed firmly into your crotch isn't your own. It's Sam's. 

You giggle as you see him, push Sam's hand away and you both straighten up. Dean's sure that the look of confusion on his face must be more than evident.

He looks at you, then at Sam, then back at you. Opens his mouth, furrows his brows, closes it again and tilts his head.

It's Sam who speaks first. He chuckles and asks Dean to sit. Without looking away from you, he pushes all of the clothes piled on the stool next to the door to the floor and sits. Then he buries his hands in the pockets of the jacket he forgot to take off.

Dean's cautious. Watches you and Sam. He's not sure what to make of this entire situation, but it seems like both of you are in a good mood. On the same page even. At least it doesn't look like Sam's going to punch him for, well, jerking off in front of his girlfriend. 

“I thought you weren't coming,” you say, a look on your face that one could almost describe as hopeful. “Thought I might have scared you off.”

Dean huffs. He's careful about the words he chooses. “Scared ain't the right word, sweetheart.” You and Sam exchange a glance that he's not sure how to interpret. Then Sam gives you a tiny nod and you clear your throat before you speak again.

“So, Dean…”  He watches you like a hawk as you speak. All of his senses are on alert, he doesn't want to miss a single cue that might give away what you're thinking. The first one he notices is a small twitch of your upper lip.

“I know you've been thinking of me. I see the way you look at me. And after this morning…” Dean's eyes dart to his brother. But Sam's face is calm, relaxed even. He's got his hand low on your ass. Right where he saw that little mark this morning.

“Well, Sam and I thought, maybe you'd like to try the real thing.” Dean's mouth drops open. He blinks at you. Somehow, he feels incredibly joyous and immensely confused at the same time. 

“You mean, you want us to hook up?” Dean feels he might be gesticulating a little too wildly, but he can't stop himself.

You bite your lip as you slowly nod. So he was right. About you wanting to fuck him. He's just not entirely sure how Sam figures into this. 

“I…” Dean's thoughts are racing, and everything around him feels like it's been dipped in honey. Sticky. Like every action requires a tremendous amount of energy. He knows this is one of these moments that decide everything. 

He looks at his brother. Tries to read him. But Sam still looks completely unbothered. Does this really mean what he thinks it does? That he'll get to have you, he'll finally be able to feel you like he's been craving for all those weeks, and with Sam's blessing?

“...and you're cool with that?” He asks his brother, just to make sure. Sam tilts his head, scratches the back of his neck.  “Well, it kinda was my idea.”

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise. Another twist he did not see coming. It must be evident to Sam that Dean is completely and utterly lost for words, because his brother starts to explain.

“We've been… trying new things. And turns out, we both liked the idea of you being in the mix. Just listening, catching us at first. So we thought, why not take it to the next level?”

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. Have you been thinking about him all this time? Have you been using him for your pleasure and he didn't even realize it?

And then it hits him. “Is that why you're so damn loud all the time?!”

You just giggle in response. And it makes Dean's heart skip a beat. Of course it is. He knows you can be quiet as a mouse if you want to. He saw it this morning. Damn. You really want this.

Dean shifts as you suddenly get up and start making your way toward him. When you reach him you extend your hand, and when he takes it you pull him up to you. He can already feel the growing hardness in his pants, and now that you're pressing yourself up against him, he's sure you can feel it too.

You stand on your tiptoes, one hand entangled with his fingers, the other on his chest. And you smell so damn good. As you look up at him your nose touches his jaw, you trace a line up to his ear. You let your cheek brush over his, and when your lips are close to his ear he hears you whisper, “is that a yes?”

His lips crash into you like a force of nature. Hot like a blaze, powerful like a storm, sweeping like the ocean. He grabs you with both hands, runs his fingers into your hair as he pulls you close. He needs to feel more of you. Touch more of you. Taste more of you. 

He knew it. You're not shy. You take charge of your pleasure. Just as your tongue is demanding entry in his mouth. Your hands are already tearing at his jacket, trying to pull it down his shoulders along with the flannel he's wearing underneath, so he lets go of your head for a second to shrug it off.

Since he's not touching you anyway, he uses his free hands to start ripping at your clothes as well. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, revealing a crimson lace bra underneath. Your tits look so perky, his hand immediately goes to squeeze one of them as he throws your shirt to the floor. He realizes he's never imagined taking your clothes off before, in his mind that used to be just something you had to get through to get to the good stuff, but getting to peel one layer off you after another? That's fun, too. He can't wait to finally get to the last one.

His lips are back on yours as his hands find the buttons on your jeans. He can feel you grinning into the kiss, probably at how much he is rushing things, but it's okay. He has been waiting for this for so long. He just needs to feel you. And it's not like you're not into it.

When he's got your jeans loose enough, he just shoves his hands into them, desperately grabbing at your ass. Your skin is so soft and warm, it makes him furious he can't touch all of it at the same time. Then he starts shimmying the fabric down. He's got a goal to reach here. 

He shuffles you backwards to the bed to make things easier, and then he sees a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye. Shit. Sam.

He got so caught up in the moment, reveling in your touch that he completely forgot about the circumstances of all of this. The fact that you're not only his brother's girlfriend, but also, that Sam is right there, in the room with you.

He throws his brother a nervous look, as if he's asking for permission when clearly he doesn't seem to be objecting to any of this. It still reassures him when Sam chuckles.

“Dean, it's fine. Just enjoy it.” And Dean decides that's all the encouragement he needs. This is not a time to worry. This is a time to savor. And savor he will.

He hastily helps you down on the bed, pulls your pants off you as soon as your feet are in the air. Then he takes a moment to look at the tableau. Of course, your panties match the bra. And funnily enough, so do the sheets you picked out for Dean. You just look like you belong there, in his bed. What a coincidence. 

He starts taking his shirt off, then his pants, and when he's finally in his boxers he crawls onto you. The way your eyes blink up at him has him forgetting everything around him. His head dips down, his lips going to your jaw, teeth nibbling their way down to your neck. When he reaches your pulse point and bites down a little harder, your entire body twitches under him, making him shiver. 

You arch your body into him, giving him more access to your neck and Dean starts to double down. The trail of his lips over your body is wet and warm, his touch making your body quiver with lust. Those sounds he's been hearing through the walls for weeks? This time, it's him doing that to you. It's you responding to his touch. You being blind with lust from the way he's handling you.

His heart almost stops when he suddenly feels your hand on his boxers. He buries his face in the valley of your breasts, trying to stifle the low groan that's escaping him at your touch. When he moves his mouth to the side, finding one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, you moan that sinfully high pitched moan he's been dreaming about, and up this close it's even more divine.

He nearly loses it then and there when you take him out of his boxers, your small fist closing around his length, the pressure so perfect it makes him want to curse. When you start pumping he has to stop what he's doing to take a moment to look at you. He's already breathing so heavily that he's worried he won't last long. And the way you're licking your lips, the way you're enjoying how you're making him feel… he needs to do something about it. He needs to be inside you. Right now.

Dean pushes himself up, skin already burning with the ghost of your touch. His hand snakes under your back, finding the clasp of your bra and pulling it off you in seconds like a magician. He calls the move the Copperfield for a reason. He's just as quick removing your panties, shimmies out of his boxers and without any of the cumbersome fabric left on either of you, he can finally dive in.

He looks you deep in the eyes as his fingers trace a line from your bellybutton, ghosting over your mound and finally finding your entrance. God, you're wet. Sam might have warmed you up a little before he came in, but this is on Dean. You're entire body pulses as he pushes two fingers in. It might just be a tiny wave slowly reclaiming the shore, but he knows the high tide is right around the corner. He's going to get you there.

Dean starts exploring your body with his fingers, mapping the points that make you shiver most. This is what he's good at. He's already got the pulse point in your neck, your breasts, obviously, and he's found another spot inside you that made you throw your head back in ecstasy.

He likes the way you whimper when he pulls his fingers from you, and he knows he's rushing things, but you're ready to take him. And if he plays his cards right, doesn't hog you the entire night, maybe there's a chance he'll get to do this again.

He's towering over you, his face so close to yours that he can feel your warm breath on his lips. “How do you want me?” There's a sudden glow to your eyes, and within an instant you've got him turned around on his back.

He's lying there, his hands on your hips, so ready for you to be in charge. He can feel his cock already leaking as you tease him against your entrance. And then you sink down on him, slowly, your eyes fluttering shut. Your chest heaves, he can see you relishing every inch he's giving you. Dean knows that this is it. The thing that all the songs are written about, you're the kind of girl that makes men throw everything overboard, quit their jobs, sell their car, rob a bank. He'd do all of these things if it meant he could watch this face slowly twisting with pleasure forever.

When your eyes open again he's fully seated inside you and there's a delicious little burn on his chest from where your nails are digging into his skin. Your gaze is heavy on him, and he's not entirely sure what you're thinking, not until you turn around looking over your shoulder. 

The movement makes Dean sink even deeper into your pussy, which is good because otherwise his ego might feel a little hurt that instead of looking at him you're now looking at Sam.

He pulls you firmly against him and starts thrusting up, making you gasp, your mouth dropping open as you look at your boyfriend. And then he suddenly gets it. He gets what this is about. He runs his hands over your body once more, pinches your nipples, commits the face you're making to his memory.

Then he takes your chin into his left hand and turns your face back to him. “Why don't you turn around, sweetheart?”

You think for a second, and then he sees a content smile spreading over your lips. You're quick as you get up and turn around, leaving Dean outside of you for only a couple of seconds, and then you're on him again. And while it's a shame that he can't see your pretty face in this position, your back is just as much of a sight to behold. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath for a second as you wiggle left and right to get him perfectly seated again because the way your ass is looking against his abs is just sinful. He feels you steadying yourself on his knees, your back arching, looking like goddamn cello. 

He hears you moan as you press yourself down on him, and then you start moving up and down. Dean holds his breath for the first couple of times that you're bouncing on his dick. The way he gets to watch you, to see him entering you over and over again is more than he could ever have dreamt of. His hands are firmly holding on to your ass, and it's the only thing grounding him, reminding him that he's an actual person with a physical body and not just a soul floating in paradise.

Nothing could ruin this moment, this peak of pleasure, not even your voice cracking as he hears you moaning his brother's name. Saying that you love him.

He sees Sam moving toward you at the same time as he feels you leaning forward. The new angle has him straining against your walls, but you keep your movement up, the stimulation so intense that he's scared he'll come any second now.

He can hear you gagging, moaning with pleasure as Sam shoves his dick down your throat, throwing you slightly off your rhythm. But you're quick to catch yourself again, and you violently clench around him as the sounds you're making with your mouth become filthier by the second.

It's like an out-of-body experience when he hears himself cursing, saying he's going to come, seconds before he pulls you flush against him, hips bucking up. He's not sure he's not marking up your skin with how hard he's holding onto you, but you seem to enjoy it every bit as much as he is, because the sound that's trying to leave your body through your full mouth is more than unambiguous. All of your body shivers, you whimper and tensen up, and when he hears Sam cussing as he grabs a fistful of your hair he knows that all three of you just came at the same time.

You don't immediately try to get up from his lap. You're still shaking, coming down from high, trying to catch your breath. But you sit up, core still wobbly, and Dean's right there to catch you as you let yourself fall back against his chest. You're still looking at Sam, your boyfriend, an impish grin on your rosy cheeks as he feels himself growing soft and finally slipping out of you.

Sam's kneeling in front of the bed now, his chin resting on his forearms between your legs. He's looking up at you like a puppy in love. Dean hears his brother saying something, you giggling in response.

Dean tilts his head down, pushes his nose into your hair and takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Shudders slightly.

Things are good.

I'm excited to be sharing 18 new fics with you this month! We got Sam and Dean gettin' busy in all kinds of ways! Straps! Cabins! Headsets! Many, many bodily fluids! A few special guests that aren't either of the brothers! Sub!Dean! So much sub!Dean!

I've decided, for my personal sanity and so as not to burn myself out, to not do the full month this year, as well as not to do a challenge for others to participate in. There will be one next month for fluffy fics however! So keep your little orbs peeled for that!

Each fic will contain its own content warnings. I've kept them all under 3k words (except one or two where I got carried away) so that if you want to keep up throughout the month, that should might maybe be possible.

I've created several series from the fics I wrote for last year's challenge, so if you like something - don't be shy, let me know! I love hearing your thoughts! There's a good chance I'll return to some of them if the muse tongue fucks kisses me.

Now without (even) further ado, here is the list!

List of Smutober 2025 fics

October 2 - Squirting (x Dean)

October 4 - Cockwarming (x Sam)

October 5 - Gender swap (x fem!Dean)

October 7 - Fuck or die (x Sam & Dean)

October 9 - Blindfolded (x Sam)

October 11 - Threesome (x Ruby x Meg)

October 12 - Phone sex (x Sam)

October 14 - Making out (x Sam & Dean)

October 16 - Erectile dysfunction (x Sam)

October 18 - Discipline (x Sam & Dean)

October 19 - Sexting (x Dean)

October 21 - Semi-public (x Sam)

October 23 - Strap-on (x Dean)

October 25 - Brat (x John)

October 26 - Consensual non-consent (x Dean)

October 28 - Masturbation (x Sam)

October 29 - Humiliation (x Dean)

October 30 - Biting (x Sam)

*All fics will be going up at 3 PM CET, so if that messes with the dates depending on what timezone you are in, I'm really sorry. I'm a dumb blonde with a smut rotted mind, bless.

**Psst, if you want to see my fics from last year, you can find the entire list here on AO3, or find my favorite ones which I've since uploaded to Tumblr here under the tag "sorry's kinktober 2024".

you had been teasing dean all day. just the little things like when you would drop something and bend over right in front of him in your jeans, the curve of your ass and the fabric tightening around your thighs. the blood rushed straight to his dick right then and there.

or when you were changing before a hunt and slipped your lounging shirt off in a way that made dean have to stop and stare. his arms snaked around your waist from behind, “baby come on, let’s make sammy wait up just a minute?” he whispered into your ear. but you felt a little cheeky, and shook your head no, which was unusual for the two of you. “not right now, we have a job to do.” dean looked at you in a way that was almost like you refused to play with a puppy.

and just about an hour ago when you took a trip to the bar, you leaned over the counter and flirted your way to a free drink with the bartender. giggling and tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes never leaving the man’s face. dean watched, he was usually okay with it because you both agreed free is free but today he just wasn’t having it. you got your drink and finished it up dean pulled you out of the bar without warning.

and that’s what got you here…

legs spread, dean’s hands holding them open, his grip tight on your thighs. his mouth sucking at your clit and tongue sliding between your folds as you cried out his name. he’s been doing this for too long and he hasn’t allowed you to cum once. “dean! please- pleaseplease! fuck!” he tilted his head to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick. “mhm, you wanna cum baby? yeah?” he cooed, and you nodded. your chest heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath. “that’s too bad isn’t it. y’ been teasing me all day, pretending you didn’t know what you were doin.”

his head tilted back down as he licked a stripe up your pussy, gently sucking on your clit. “you didn’t want this?” he rasped out. you just whimpered in reply, you were so sensitive and ready to release at almost any touch. “speak up baby, tell me you didn’t want this.” but you both knew that you love this, you wanted this. “that’s what i thought. dirty fuckin’ girl.”

dean’s mouth continued to work at your pussy til you couldn’t take it anymore, were squirming and tears fell from your eyes. “dean fuck— please! please.. i’ll be good!” you said loudly. very glad dean decided to do this while sam was out. dean smiled against you, “okay baby. let go, you deserve it.” and at those very simple words you released. your juices soaking his face, the lewd noises of him licking you up filled the room. your legs shook and your body spasmed as you came down from your high.

“we’re not done.” he said roughly into your ear. he grabbed your jaw and his hands were rough against your soft skin, he pulled you into a kiss and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “can’t tease me all day and think i won’t be cumming too.” he mumbled as he gripped your thighs and pulled you close to his hips. you looked up at him with your fucked out expression, “you can take it right honey?” and you just lazily nodded in reply.

he was only in his boxers but not for much longer, he pulled them down in a swift motion just enough for his cock to spring out. it slapped against his torso, you looked and it was throbbing and slick with his pre. you could already feel the heat pool in your tummy once again.

he gave himself a few strokes before sliding himself into you inch by inch. you gasped at the feeling, your brows furrowed and you let out a low moan as he bottomed out.

his movements were slow in the beginning, small thrusts that drove you crazy, you were still sensitive from the previous round and he just wanted to torture you. “feel s’ good around my cock. n you look so pretty fucked out, pretty slut.” you moaned at the nickname and once he started speeding up the pace. he held your thighs, your legs up on his shoulders, and his hips snapping against your skin.

his hand moved down to rub at your sensitive clit, his finger circling around it. “dean! fuck!” you moaned out. the sensation of your already used pussy and him continuing to overstimulate you made you feel almost dizzy. your vision was white around the corner of your eyes, you could barely see dean in front of you. but you could feel him, and there was nothing better than this feeling.

dean’s pace got sloppier and faster, he could feel himself getting closer and so could you. “can y’ give me one more baby? i know you can.” you nodded in reply. dean hit your sweet spot and you gasped, creaming around his cock. your vision went white and your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the overwhelming feeling washing over you.

he slowly pulled out of you as you came down from your high, his hand moving around his own cock and he came on your tummy. dean flopped down beside you, both of you attempting to catch your breath and collect yourselves.

“y’ all good baby?” he grabbed your waist, pulling you in closer. “mhm.. m’ just worn out.” you giggled, and he smiled. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

an: day one completed! i live pst btw if this is late for any of u! please lmk what you think ^_^ and stay tuned for day 2 luvvies.

@ackl3z @vodkanoredbull @anibeaar @wwvvii @impalaaa-67 @miretlerans @czsgonemad @surr4denec4 @zjasminelouvre3 @stariou @turkawkas @hot-and-confused @deans-1angel @spnbbunnyy @c1eepypas1a @abigolemess @anqelzi @otherluckywitnesses @a-gay-alien @yellowdinosour

The motel room is quiet except for the hum of the old AC unit and the sound of your breathing. Sam’s already asleep in the other room, and Dean’s stretched out beside you on the too-small bed, still half-wired from the hunt. His body aches, muscles tight with adrenaline that hasn’t faded yet, but his eyes are fixed on you.

You’re curled against his chest, face relaxed in sleep, lips parted just enough to let out soft little breaths. One arm is draped over him, your thigh thrown carelessly across his hip like you’d been reaching for him even in your dreams. The sight makes something twist low in his gut, sharp and needy.

Dean swallows hard, dragging a hand over his face. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But the memory of your voice—half-laughing, shy but sure—comes back to him: “If you need me and I’m asleep… don’t wait. I trust you.”

That trust is a weight and a gift, and tonight it burns in his chest.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You stir faintly, sighing, but don’t wake. His heart pounds harder.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts, easing your sleep shorts down over your hips. You move only enough to let him, pliant even in sleep. His breath catches as he palms himself through his boxers, already hard from just the thought of being inside you like this.

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, murmuring soft reassurance you won’t even hear: “It’s just me, baby. Just Dean.”

He fists his cock, stroking himself until he’s aching, then lines up at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, groaning at the slick heat of you, his forehead dropping against your neck. You whimper, shifting faintly, but your body accepts him, clenching around him in a way that makes his vision blur.

“Shh,” he soothes, hand slipping over your mouth out of instinct, though you barely make a sound. He presses deeper, bottoming out with a shaky exhale. “God, you feel so good.”

His pace is careful, unhurried, shallow thrusts that keep him buried in you, savoring the way your body responds even like this. Each little squeeze around him is a prayer, each sigh a hymn. You nuzzle against his chest unconsciously, and it nearly undoes him.

Dean buries his face against your hair, whispering between gritted teeth. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had. My girl. Always mine.” His hand strokes your hip slowly, grounding himself as much as you.

The pressure builds fast, too fast, the mix of guilt and reverence and raw need tightening every muscle in his body. He grinds into you, deep and slow, until his release rips through him with a groan muffled against your neck. He spills inside, holding you tight, grinding to press it deeper, not letting a drop escape.

He stays there, chest heaving, wrapped around you like a shield. For a long moment, the only sound is your steady breathing and his ragged gasps.

When he finally slips out, it’s with a soft wince at the loss of your warmth. He grabs a rag from his duffel, cleaning you up with the same careful hands that can break bones when he needs to. He pulls your shorts back up gently, tucks the blanket high around your shoulders.

Sliding back into bed, he pulls you flush against him, one arm draped heavy around your waist. He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering into your hair, more for himself than for you.

“Mine. Always mine.”

You had been halfway through prepping the counter-spell you had found in Bobby’s journal when Dean leaned in too close, peering into the bowl in your hands.

“What the hell is this witchy soup?” he teased, nose wrinkling. And before you could answer, he rested his hand on the table in front of you, his elbow knocking over a vial that was perched at the edge. The shimmering, translucent powder burst into the air like smoke as the glass shattered against the ground, drifting throughout the room like a seductive cloud. While you’d had the sense to hold your breath, Sam, who was seated on the other side of the table, had gasped a half a second after the glass broke, and Dean, who had frantically reached for it as it fell, had inhaled sharply before coughing as he got a lungful of vial’s contents.

Your heart lurched as you watched both brothers freeze, the powder settling around them like glittering snow. The effects were immediate. Dean’s pupils dilated, his breathing growing shallow as he gripped the edge of the table. Sam’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white as he pressed his palms flat against the wooden surface.

“Shit,” you breathed, covering your mouth and nose with one hand and motioning for them to get out of the room with the other. “Okay, nobody panic.” But Dean was already moving, his green eyes dark and hungry as they fixed on you with an intensity that sent heat through your system despite the seriousness of the situation. Sam wasn’t faring much better. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and when his gaze met yours, you could see the same desperate need reflected there.

When the three of you were safely out of the contaminated room, you leaned against the hallway wall, trying to think through your options while fighting the distraction of watching both men struggle with the effects coursing through their systems. Sam ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as if the pain might ground him somehow.

“What was in that vial?” he managed, his voice strained and unnaturally deep.

“Aphrodite’s Whisper,” you said. “It’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Bobby’s journal says it can last up to twenty-four hours, but–”

“Twenty-four hours?” Dean’s laugh was rough, almost pained. “Baby, I don’t think I can last twenty-four minutes like this.” His hands were trembling as he reached for you, stopping just short of grabbing your shoulders. “Tell me there’s an antidote.”

You swallowed hard, watching the way Dean’s shoulders tensed beneath his shirt and the way that Sam’s breathing caught as he pressed himself flat against the opposite wall.

“There’s… there’s no traditional antidote,” you admitted, your voice just barely above a whisper. “But there was a mention of… alternative methods of working it out of the system.” Sam’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when they opened again, the raw hunger there made your pulse quicken.

“What kind of alternate methods?” Sam asked even though you were confident he already knew what your answer would be. After all, Sam had read through Bobby’s journal more thoroughly than you. You looked between them, heart hammering against your ribs. There was no doubt that you loved these men, but seeing them like this – pupils blown wide, chests heaving, hands clenching at their sides as they fought for control – it sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Give in to it and let your body run through it naturally. The more intense of an… outlet you give it, the quicker it’ll work through your system.” The silence that followed was thick with tension, broken only by Dean’s sharp intake of breath and the sound of Sam’s palm sliding down the wall as he tried to steady himself.

“So what you’re saying is…” Sam’s voice was low and strained, “we need to…”

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ sound and rolling your shoulders. “Good thing we didn’t really have much on our agenda this evening, yeah?”

“You sure about this sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was rough as he reached for you, his hand hovering just inches from your face. Even though he looked like he was right on the edge of excruciating discomfort, he was still a gentleman. Still giving you an out. You nodded and couldn’t help but laugh a little despite yourself.

“Oh, yeah, I’m really the loser in this situation, huh? Both of my incredibly hot and sexy boyfriends just got dosed with lust dust from Hell and now they both wanna rail me until I can’t walk. Real damn shame.” You gave a rueful sigh, feigning distress. Sam pushed himself off the wall, his massive frame seeming even larger than usual in the narrow hallway as he moved towards you with a predatory grace.

“Is that right?” Sam’s voice was pure gravel as he closed the distance between you, pushing past Dean. His hazel eyes were almost completely black, pupils blown wide. You could feel the heat radiating from his body even before he reached you, his hand coming up to cup your jaw with surprising gentleness despite the tremor in his fingers.

Dean moved to your side, bracketing you between their broad frames. The scent of their cologne mixed with something earthier, more primal, filled your senses as Dean’s palm found the small of your back.

“You have no idea what you do to us on a normal day,” Dean murmured against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “This is just dialing all of it up to eleven.” You felt your breath catch as Sam’s thumb traced along your jawline, the simple touch sending electricity through your entire body. Had you inhaled some of the powder as well? Or had your body just been so finely tuned to respond to them? Either way, you weren’t about to complain.

“Bedroom,” you whispered, your voice coming out breathier than intended. “Now.” You didn’t need to tell them twice. Dean’s hand pressed firmly against your back, guiding you down the hallway while Sam’s fingers threaded through yours, his grip almost desperate. The short walk to your shared bedroom felt like an eternity, each step building the tension that crackled between the three of you.

The moment you crossed the threshold, Sam spun you around to face him, his mouth crashing against yours with an urgency that made your knees weak. His kiss was hungry, all-consuming, his hands holding the back of your head as he crowded you further into the room. Dean’s hands found your waist from behind, his fingers already working at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head as Sam’s lips trailed down your throat. The cool air of the bedroom hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning inside you as Dean’s chest pressed against your back, his own shirt already discarded somewhere behind you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Sam breathed against your collarbone, his voice thick with need. His hands roamed your sides, memorizing every curve as if he hadn’t touched you a thousand times before. But this felt different. More intense. More desperate. The aphrodisiac had stripped away their usual restraint, leaving raw desire in its wake. Dean’s mouth found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking gently as he unclasped your bra.

“We’re gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart,” he murmured. His promise sent a shiver through you. Sam’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, his fingers fumbling with the button in his haste. You made quick work of the buttons of Sam’s flannel, reaching down to help him with the stubborn button of your jeans when you were finished. Then, you turned around to face Dean, working on the button and zipper of his jeans while Sam pushed yours down your hips.

Dean’s jeans fell to the floor with a soft thud, his boxers quickly following after. Sam had already stripped completely, his tall frame looming behind you and his arousal evident against your back. Dean’s eyes raked over your nearly naked form, his hands reaching out to trace the curve of your hip.

“Tell us what you want,” Sam whispered in your ear, his large hands sliding down your sides to hook into your underwear, tugging them down.

“Well I doubt you’re going to take turns,” you teased, stepping out of your underwear as they pooled at your feet.

“I think we’re way past taking turns,” Dean growled. “Need you now.” Sam’s hands slid around your waist from behind, his lips trailing kisses along your shoulder.

“We both do.”

You felt yourself being lifted, Dean’s strong arms hoisting you up as your back pressed against Sam’s chest. Sam’s hands steadied you, his fingers splaying across your rib cage as Dean positioned himself between your legs. The feeling of being suspended between them, being entirely at their mercy, made your head spin with desire.

“Like this,” Dean said, his eyes locked with yours as Sam pressed against your back, the heat of their bodies enveloping you completely. “Want to watch you come apart while we’re both inside you.” A whimper escaped your lips at his words, your core clenching with need. “Hold onto me.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your fingertips as Sam adjusted his grip, his hands sliding down to the back of your thighs. Dean shifted, hooking his forearms beneath your knees and holding you open for him.

The anticipation built as you felt Dean’s hardness pressing against your entrance, his green eyes searching yours for permission even through the haze of the aphrodisiac. You nodded breathlessly, and he pushed into you slowly, stretching you in a way you were sure you were never going to get enough of.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean groaned, his voice strained as he seated himself fully inside you. The angle had you completely open to him, every nerve ending on fire as you adjusted to the fullness. Behind you, Sam’s breathing grew more ragged against your neck. His lips found your ear, voice a rough whisper.

“You ready for me too?” The question sent another wave of heat through you, and you could only manage a desperate nod and a soft noise of acknowledgement. You heard the vague sound of the bedside drawer sliding open, and Sam’s warmth was gone for half a breath before he returned, slick fingers gently pressing at your ass. The lube was cool, and you gasped slightly as Sam worked you open with careful, deliberate movements, his free hand steadying you against Dean’s chest. “Breathe for me,” Sam murmured. His preparation was thorough but urgent, and there was no hiding the urgency thrumming through him. When his fingers were replaced by the blunt pressure of his cock, you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Dean pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut like it was physically paining him to keep still. “We’ve got you.”

Sam pushed forward slowly, and the sensation of being filled by both of them at once overwhelmed every other thought in your mind. Your breath caught in your throat as he sank into you inch by inch until he finally bottomed out, your body stretched to its limits between them.

“Jesus,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. “So tight.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled with only the sound of labored breathing as your body adjusted. Dean’s fingers dug into your thighs, his control visibly slipping as the Aphrodite’s Whisper coursed through his system. Sam’s hands gripped your waist, holding you steady even as the entirety of his body practically trembled with need.

“You okay?” Dean asked, his eyes searching yours with a hint of concern beneath the lust.

“Never better,” you managed, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears. “You guys can move. I’m good.” You shifted slightly, causing both men to groan in unison.

They started slowly but quickly found a rhythm that had your head falling back against Sam’s shoulder. Dean pulled back before thrusting forward again while Sam matched his movements in perfect counterpoint. When one withdrew, the other pushed deeper, never leaving you fully empty and never giving you a moment to catch your breath.

The sensation was indescribably, every nerve ending in your body singing in unison as they moved within you. Your fingernails dug into Dean’s shoulders, leaving crescent marks on his skin as you gasped and clung to him. It didn’t take long for their synchronized movements to grow more urgent. More desperate. The aphrodisiac drove them to a frenzied pace that had you gasping their names.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Dean groaned, his voice strained as his hips snapped up into yours. Behind you, Sam’s breath was hot against your neck, one hand sliding around to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple in a way that made you arch back against him.

“So perfect,” Sam muttered, his lips trailing along your shoulder. “Taking both of us so well.” Your body was on fire, caught between them as they worked you towards a release that felt as inevitable as it was overwhelming.

“I can’t–” you gasped, your words cutting off as Dean’s angle shifted slightly, hitting a spot deep inside you that completely fried your ability to form words. Your body tensed between them, every muscle coiling tight.

“That’s it,” Dean encouraged, his voice rough and commanding. “Let go for us.” Sam’s hand slid down from your breast to find your clit, his fingers working tight circles that had you crying out for them.

“Come on, pretty girl,” Sam’s voice was absolute sin against your ear. “Need to feel you fall apart.”

That was all it took. The coil of tension in your core snapped like a rubber band, and your orgasm crashed over you with an intensity that left you breathless and shaking. You clenched around both of them, drawing groans from their throats.

“Fuck, yes,” Dean growled through gritted teeth, his movements becoming erratic. The feeling of you coming apart between them was plenty of encouragement. Sam came first, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he spilled inside you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. You gasped his name, feeling him pulse within you.

Dean followed moments later, his head falling forward to rest against your chest as he thrust deep one final time, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. For several long moments, the three of you stayed that way, chests heaving as you all came down from the high.

When they finally pulled out of you, your legs were shaking so badly that Sam had to carry you to the bed, gently laying you down on the rumpled sheets. You half expected exhaustion to take over, but as you glanced up at both men hovering over you, you got the very distinct feeling that you were going to learn what exhaustion really meant.

Dean’s pupils were still blown wide, his chest rising and falling heavily as he wet his lips. Sam’s hands were already moving across your skin again, mapping the curves of your body with desperate reverence. The brief respite had clearly done nothing to quell the fire burning in their veins.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, his voice still thick with need. His fingers traced along your thigh, and you could see the hunger still simmering behind his eyes.

“Like I might not survive the next twenty-three hours,” you replied with a breathless laugh. “But, man, is it going to be a way to go.” Dean chuckled, but it sounded strained as he sat on your other side.

“Yeah, well, we’re just getting started.” His eyes trailed down your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts. “We’ll try and go easy on you,” he said, though his hand was already sliding up your inner thigh. You gave him a knowing smile, your body still humming with aftershocks.

“Says the man who looks like he’s about to devour me whole.” Sam’s responding laugh was low and dark as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow.

“That’s exactly what I’m planning to do,” Dean confirmed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a predatory smirk that sent fresh heat through your system.

You were still catching your breath when Dean pulled you towards him, catching your lips in a surprisingly tender kiss despite the fire still evident in his eyes. His tongue slid against yours with deliberate patience that belied the urgency thrumming through him.

“Round two already?” you murmured against his lips.

“Round two of about five or six,” Dean answered, his hand sliding up your inner thigh with feather-light touches. “Maybe more.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Winchester.” You felt Sam’s lips press to the back of your neck, his fingers trailing down your spine.

“Pretty girl,” Sam’s voice was a rumble against your ear. “When have we ever made a promise we couldn’t keep?” You shuddered.

“Never.”

You didn’t have to see their matching grins to feel them.

---

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Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07 @impala67rollingthroughtown @ralilda @my-stories-vault @mellowyellowdaydream @eddiesbabygurl @shady-persona06 @little-rose-universe @enchantedtomeetcoffee

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @alexfms97 @jbear750 @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07 @eddiesbabygurl @shady-persona06 @little-rose-universe @enchantedtomeetcoffee

You’re bored. Tired. And quite frankly, in need of some action. Even a kiss would suffice. It’s nearing that feral time of the month again, you suppose.

Lips painted a dark glossy red, a half finished cigarette between them. You play with the ends of your hair as you sit down a couple seats away from Dean, unbeknownst. You order a double brandy and ginger ale, setting up a tab you know you’ll be using tonight. A cloud of smoke is exhaled through your nose, scoping out the bar properly while you wait for your drink. The nic buzz courses through you in a short burst of exhilaration.

Your eyes skip over every face in the joint, some looking right back at you, lustful interest playing behind keen eyes, including Dean’s. In your peripheral, you notice he’s pretty nearby. Slowly, your gaze returns to him and yeah, that’s a face that deserves to be between your thighs tonight. Hell, that’s a face that deserves your face between his thighs. For a moment, you’re both just staring at each other, the haze of mixing blunt smoke in the air. But then the bartender sets your drink down in front of you and you break the eye contact to thank her, sipping almost innocently while his eyes burn holes in the side of your face.

You wait. A solid forty-three seconds before he finally gets up and sits beside you, presence warm and dark. Still, you keep your eyes on the dying embers of the cigarette between your fingers, lip gloss marks stained across the tip, a matching mark on the edge of the plastic cup of alcohol. You take a long gulp of it and you feel him watch your throat before he actually says anything.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a dirty, no good place like this, hm?” he eventually utters, his own cup of whiskey swirling in his grasp.

The tip of your index finger plays around with the rim of your cup for a moment before you answer, eyes glancing over at him slyly. “This is where you go if you wanna get up to dirty and no good things, isn’t it?” you reply with a mischievous hum, taking another puff of your cig.

Dean hums, eyes on the way your lips wrap around the cig before dropping to that very generous shirt giving him all that cleavage for free and that goddamn orange push up bra beneath it. “This is definitely the place for that, sweetheart.”

Finally, you turn your gaze to him, holding eye contact as you finish the rest of your drink in one long gulp. Your thumb catches a stray droplet, tongue immediately flicking out to taste it on your skin. He watches, gaze almost hungry. He’s adjusting himself on his seat as you order yourself another drink. Dean insists he pays for it, smirk playing those pretty lips of his as he mutters something about being a gentleman—like he’s ever known gentlemanly behaviour to be in his personality bank.

His eyes are constantly on that bra peeking out beneath your shirt. Or more so, your tits.

“Fuck, I hate you for wearing that goddamn bra,” he mutters under his breath, breaking character for a moment.

Your lips twitch up for a moment as you offer him a drag of your cigarette. He takes it wordlessly, inhaling deeply, not minding the lip gloss on it.

“You’re not meant to know anything about this ‘goddamn’ bra, Dean,” you murmur in reply, nudging up closer to him so to anyone on the outside it looks like two strangers flirting. In reality though, it’s two seriously horny 20 something year old hunters with a penchant for trying new things with each other—hence the strangers role-play.

Dean scoffs at your words, not bothering to give you the cigarette back and instead finishing it. “How am I meant to pretend I’ve not ever had my face buried in between those beautiful tits of yours, sweetheart?”

You only smirk, removing another blunt and light from your pocket as your next drink is set on the table between you both. “Ain’t that the mysterious fun of it all, baby?”

“Mm, don’t call me baby right now, wearing’ that bra where people can see it,” he grunts, glancing around instinctively, checking for any lingering eyes. “That’s my fuckin’ bra.”

“Is it now?” you muse, a fresh wave of nic buzz washing over you. “I was under the impression I bought this bra for myself two years ago.”

“And what a great present it was f’me, sweetness,” he mutters, hand reaching for your thigh. You snatch his wrist swiftly.

“No touching.”

He rolls his eyes, flexing his fingers as you let go. Swiftly, he flicks back to that fake curious stranger persona like he hadn’t fucked you silly the past three nights in a row and was about to do so again in an hour. “You come here alone then?”

Two men begin to raise their voices behind you both by the pool table but neither of you pay much mind to them, totally engrossed in each other. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you hum, inhaling another drag and taking a long drink soon after. The mix of alcohol, nicotine, and Dean’s dirty gaze is dizzying and elating.

“I would,” he replies quickly, leaning closer. “I really fucking would, sweetheart.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips, eyes flicking up and down you again.

“Name’s not sweetheart, sweetheart,” you click your tongue, setting the plastic cup down with only dregs left in it. Your gaze drops to the whiskey in his grasp and the silver ring glinting on his middle finger. “You gonna finish that?”

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, breaking character as the rowdy men behind you reach a crescendo of yells and accusations. One of the bartenders sighs irritably and stalks out from behind the bar to grab a bouncer. Still, it’s like the world doesn’t exist.

“You tryna leech off me already, sweetheart?”

You shrug mischievously. “Worth a try, ain’t it?”

Dean only watches you for another moment before slowly bringing the drink to his lips and downing the rest of it in one go, expression relaxed and unphased from the taste as he sets the empty cup back on the table.

Your tongue rolls over the inside of your cheek, trying to hide an amused smirk. “You got a name, stranger?”

He bites his lip to hide another smirk as he shifts to lean his elbow on the table. “Might wanna make a list of dirty names in your notes app, babe.”

A scoff escapes your glossed lips. “That right?” you snort, fidgeting with a necklace resting on your collarbone. “You talk a lot of cocky shit for a random guy in a dodgy bar in the middle of nowhere.”

His proud smile is dazzling. Beautiful some might say. You definitely would say that. Among a lot of other things that would make a nun faint. “Only for sexy chicks like you, sweetness,” he replies smoothly, a bouncer having to separate the two drunk shouting men and escort them off the premises. A bunch of college kids overtake the pool table, making light fun of the almost bar fight.

“You say that to all the sexy chicks you find in bars?”

“Nope,” he grins, tapping his chest. “This one was straight from the heart.”

You tilt your head, examining him for another moment. “You got a room?”

“I got a car.”

You raise an amused eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?” you muse. “I’m a very classy lady, you know.”

“Mm, I bet you are.”

A laugh louder than both of you expect falls from your lips, unable to maintain nonchalantness for a second. “That did not land the way you wanted it to.”

Dean only rolls his eyes, running a quick hand through his hair. “Oh please, don't act like you weren’t practically in tears the other day ‘cuz I didn’t let you finish,” he scoffs, unable to stop himself from the retort and going totally off script.

The laughter quickly drops from your face as you hiss under your breath. “You’re acting all cocky now in broad daylight like you don’t beg for me when I’m ridin’ you slow, baby.”

This forces a smirk onto his face, not even ashamed. “Alright,” he nods, his smirk turning predatory as he leans in to press his plush lips to your ear. His breath is warm and wet. “You make a good point but trust me when I say this—I’m gonna flirt with you for another hour, yeah? And then afterwards I’m gonna take you to my car and I’m gonna fuck you like you’re some slutty hookup in the backseat.”

When he pulls away, you look up at him with a pleased smile. “Promise?”

He hums in response, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His knuckles brush the side of your smooth face, memorising the feel.

A rowdy group of middle aged men have arrived at the bar a few seats away, harassing the bartenders and being a general nuisance. Dean takes this as his sign to stand from his stool, offering a teasing palm to you. The cuffs of his leather jacket brush the back of your hand as you accept his hand and slide off your seat. He guides you to a table near the back, a trail of smoke following you both from the lit blunt. He totally disregards the two women still going at it in the corner, his eyes all over you.

“So,” he announces after you both sit down. The table’s a little sticky and it smells strongly of hash but that’s the charm of a place like this. “You never answered my question on why you’re here tonight, sweetness.”

You raise an eyebrow, pausing for a moment to think of a flirty response. “Looking’ for a trouble that’s worth it,” you decide to say, the words feeling cheesy and silly but feed the role-play well.

Dean’s grin widens. He likes that. “Oh, I am so worth it,” he brags, assuming he’s the trouble. “You’ll be feelin’ me for months.”

“What makes you think I won’t forget about you in a week?” you hum, fingering your cigarette absentmindedly.

“You won’t,” is all he replies.

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before taking another drag. “Desperate and cocky,” you note.

He scoffs. “Nah, I just know what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Those sexy lips of yours wrapped around my cock,” he smiles like his words weren’t totally vulgar and crude and disgusting and turned you the fuck on.

The table creaks as you lean forward, cleavage more visible from this angle and more importantly that bra he loves so much. “Sounds messy,” you state almost blandly as though you’re not shifting desperately on the chair for any sort of friction. Your tongue kisses the back of your teeth, trying to keep your composure.

That forever smirk on his face deepens like he knows what you’re doing—how you’re feeling. “I like my women messy.”

“Oh, so I’m yours now, huh?”

“Sweetheart, you were mine the second you walked through that door.”

Your expression breaks for a moment and there’s a split second where you think, fuck, I’m about to lose this game and tap out because Jesus fucking Christ, this man makes me feral. But then you remember how irritating his gloating is and quickly collect yourself. You would win this. And then afterwards you could let him ravish you and whisper all sorts in your ear.

Dean licks his lips. “Tell me to kiss you.”

You shake your head. “I barely know you,” you hum, finally leaning back in your chair with a soft smirk of your own.

His eyes narrow slightly but then he scoffs and smacks his lips lightly, pretending like he hasn’t got the craziest boner throbbing beneath the fly of his jeans. “Almost had you there.”

“Did you?” you hum, your legs brushing his beneath the table.

There’s a jolt and the table rocks. He hadn’t expected the touch, the way your shoe teases up his calf while you bite your lip like you’re doing absolutely nothing. Christ, he’s never been harder. It’s suddenly sweaty and hot and thick in the air. The background noise becomes altogether louder but more incoherent at the same time. Your foot caresses the inside of his thigh and he shudders, white-knuckling the edge of the table.

“Goddamnit,” he curses under his breath.

And the worst part about it is how disinterested you try to look. Still leaned back, cigarette balanced between your cherry lips as you pull out your phone to scroll, foot still nudging his inner thigh. One strap of your tank top slips from your shoulder. You don’t bother fixing it.

But there’s tells. The tiny ones anyone would notice if they looked at you close enough. The way your fingers tap your knee shakily. The way your thighs are pressed tightly together like you’re trying to curb the hurt.

And you are. Inside, you’re pulsing like hell. Hot and melted and borderline uncomfortable. You’re so wet, it wouldn't even surprise you if you left evidence on the chair once Dean inevitably drags you out of there.

The ache swells below your belly button, seizing your insides, drowning all sensible thought. You finish your smoke and grab another, unable to stop because if you did, you’d end up jumping into his lap.

Every time you moved your foot to tease him, your jeans would shift just right and the delicious friction would send jolts up your spine. He’d lick his lips again and fuck, a moan almost escapes you.

“You’re hurtin’ me, baby,” he rasps out, adjusting himself like he’s in pain. Your foot finally drops. He lets out a soft gasp, palm pressing against the zip of jean as though trying to relieve himself. It’s a sadistic cage, his cock begging to be released.

“You want me to be sorry?”

“I want you on your knees sucking me off,” he lets out, accompanied by a pained laugh. His gaze flicks down to the hand loosely hanging between your knees, inching up your thighs. “Hands on the table, baby. You ain’t cheating. You’re already grinding that fuckin’ chair like it owes you money.”

You smile low—dangerous. “You’ve rubbed your dick like five times already.”

He shrugs. “It’s hungry for ya.”

“For my mouth?” you hum. “Dean, you wouldn’t last sixty seconds if I got on my knees right now.”

He clicks his tongue. “That supposed to be an insult to me or a compliment to yourself?”

“Both,” you smile pleasantly. “I wouldn't mind as long as you make a mess all over my tongue.”

His hand slams down on the table—pure instinct. There’s a primal need coursing though him and he genuinely can’t take it anymore. “Baby, stop talking or I’m gonna bend you over the hood of my car and fuck you so hard the shocks snap.”

“I’d let ya,” you muse, thighs rubbing together slow and delicious. “But only if you crack first. Call it quits, babe.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, head in his hands trying desperately to compose himself. You lean further across the table, resting your chin in your hand and continuing to rub your thighs together. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, feeling your panties sticking and your toes curling.

Dean hisses, his entire body trembling. His cock twitches at the little hums she makes.

It’s not a shock when he breaks. It’s not dramatic when he stands abruptly. It’s not surprising when he grabs your wrist and yanks you out of your seat, the cigarette snub falling to the ground as he finally finally drags you out of that godforsaken bar.

He manoeuvres you in front of him, big hands curling around your biceps. His warm lips press into the shell of your ear. “You win, baby.”

The night air is cool outside but not cold. Dean had conveniently parked Baby under a shadowy bridge down the street.

You don’t even make it to the car before his lips are on you. Both of you are trembling like crazy, licking into each other’s mouths, teeth clashing messily. You're both stumbling forwards and back across the sidewalk, your hands exploring every inch and his mostly squeezing your tits.

And when your back finally hits the side of the Impala, he doesn’t even bother taking out the keys. He’s grinding into you and you're gasping into his mouth, desperate little moans lodged in the back of your throat. Your fingers lace into his hair, gripping tight. You’ve never been so turned on in your life. It’s tight and hot and uncomfortable and with each sloppy grind that edge gets so close you think you might actually cum your pants before he’s even touched you properly.

“Fuck, baby, just give it to me,” you gasp into his mouth, hands shaking as you fumble with his belt buckle. His hips buck into your hands. He lets out a loud grunt, hand gripping the car behind you tightly while the other snakes down to unbutton your own jeans, fingers slipping down to search for that ruined fabric. A choked moan leaves you both.

“Shit, you’re soaked as fuck,” he rasps, voice hoarse as his lips connect with your neck.

“Need you,” you gasp, grinding down onto his fingers. “Oh my god, I need you so fucking bad.”

He’s panting into your neck, unable to do anything as you finally shove his jeans and boxers down just enough to squeeze his cock out, hand immediately wrapping around it the warm thickness of it. “Ah- F-Fuck- D-Don’t- Shit.”

You don't even care that you're in the streets right now. You don’t even care when you shimmy your jeans and panties down to your knees so you can part your thighs enough for him to sink himself into you. Neither of you move when he finally gets inside of you, trembling like you’ve just been dipped in an ice bath. His forehead hits your shoulder, panting like a fucking puppy with his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your nails dig into his biceps, biting down on your tongue to try curb that feeling of pleasure from tipping too early.

When he moves, it’s quick—sharp and snappy. The car creaks with every erratic thrust, moving slightly with you both. You try desperately to keep quiet but it feels so fucking good. “Don’t stop,” you gasp, head thrown back. “Oh god, please don’t!”

“M’not, baby,” he gasps back, lips latching back onto your neck.

Neither of you last much longer. You clamp down on him pretty quickly, unable to stop the moan of ecstasy when you finally get that release. The tightness triggers his own orgasm and then you both cum—together. Violently.

You’re out of breath when the high finally knocks you both on your asses.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, chest heaving as you fall limp against the car’s side, your thighs dripping. The reality of the cold outside air hits you like a wall and you shiver, feeling exposed. “What the hell was that?”

Dean’s face is still buried in your neck, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It takes a long moment for him to respond with words, his cock softening inside of you. “That… we need to do that pretending shit more often, holy fuck.”

You let out a low laugh. “Dean, ignoring the fact neither of us lasted thirty seconds there much less sixty, please pull out before someone walks by.”

He groans like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to think about doing.

“I’ll suck you off in the backseat,” you offer and that snaps him out of his reverie. His head lifts from your neck to look at you, face flushed, hair a wild mess, and lips all red and shiny.

“Promise?”

“Only if you return the favour.”

He grins widely. “Don’t even gotta ask f’that, sweetheart. I got you.”

"god, 's freezin' in here," you managed to whisper through your clenched jaw as you tugged the covers impossibly closer. even through your old hoodie—which used to belong to someone whose name you don't bother to remember—you could feel goosebumps prickling your arms. your hands, cupped over your mouth as you blow warm air into them, were numb and pale.

oh, the things you wouldn't do to stay decently warm.

"well, the offer still stands," dean's voice resounded from the other creaky motel mattress, the smug grin ghosting over his lips practically audible, "you could always warm up with me."

a light scoff scratched your throat as you kept your back faced to him. "you're gross."

"that's not what i meant," he enunciated the 't,' and you graciously decided to let him continue. "just thought that we would keep each other warm—body heat."

you paused. "still sounds perverted coming from you, of all people."

he scoffed. "really?"

"yeah. and 'm not comin' over there. i can't even feel my legs anymore." the last sentence was only half of a joke as you cringed, tightening your jaw again as you locked your hands into prayer before desperately rubbing them together.

a breath of a laugh escaped dean's chest. a beat of a moment passed before anyone pierced the silence again.

dean caved first, a groan rumbling from his chest that made you stir. you heard him slide off the mattress, the box spring wailing, as he crossed the short distance between you two. you propped yourself onto your forearms, lips parted as you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, watching.

before you could begin to protest, he nudged you gently, hand on your shoulder, his eyes droopy and blinking slow as he mumbled a quick, quiet "move over." not demanding, just effortless.

so, of course you shuffle over, using all your remaining stamina. the cold once harboring in the absent spot is harsh against your skin, like teeth grating down your spine. the hair on your arms stood up, and a sound of defiance left you.

dean settles in haphazardly, bumping into you with equal amounts of blindness that was perfectly dean winchester. you grunted and shot daggers over your shoulder, eyes raking him over as he adjusted. but as he did, you instantly recognized how—

"god, you're so warm," you gushed quietly, tentatively inching closer while leaving a thin gap between you. he felt like sitting in front of a crackling fireplace, and your eyes fluttered shut as the heat began to embrace you, chasing your goosebumps away.

"and you're freezing," dean remarked, chest rumbling with chuckle that shook the bed, "c'mere." with that, dean manhandled you, pulling you closer by your midsection and taut against him. you hissed through your teeth at his touch: his fingers were freezing, but he quickly retracted them once your bodies were pressed together.

you were close enough that the tip of your nose grazed dean's cheek and the soft material of your sweatpants glided across his when your legs brushed. the only thing you were unsure of was where to put your hands—usually, they lay in front of your face, but that wasn't an option now. instead, you tucked one hand into the pocket of your hoodie, and the other tucked beneath your head.

then, another thought at the forefront of your mind: this was the most intimate you two had ever been together, besides those moments where you stitched each other up after a hunt, or sat side-by-side in a diner booth and dean would courteously let you steal his bacon or sausage from his plate—something he'd never allow for anybody else.

so, yeah. maybe you did have the slightest, tiniest, smudge of a crush on your best friend—just a little. nothing serious... right?

dean shifted ever so slightly, resting his chin atop your head, essentially escorting your face into the crook of his neck, warming your nose and lips effortlessly.

you didn't mind the proximity as much as you thought you'd might. instead, you liked it better this way. maybe dean did know a thing or two about staying—

"you warmin' up yet, sweetheart?" his deep, gentle voice makes your skull rattle in your head and your heart thrust against your ribcage like a wild animal. you sucked in a quick breath, effectively inhaling the scent of amber and leather, as you ushered out a response, trying not to focus on how good he smells, or how his muscles seem perfectly carved out for you to slot into.

"a bit," you breathed, "are you?" wordlessly, you shuffled closer, seeking more insulation and comfort. he responded with the same kindness, his hand on your waist tugging you nearer like you weighed nothing.

"warmer than i was when you left me cold and alone," he teased, and you could literally feel the small smile sprawl on his lips as it pressed into your hair. you mentally rolled your eyes, and dean must've sensed it because a light chortle made his whole body tremble.

his voice probed again, "think we'll survive the night?"

"maybe," you tiredly murmured, and a weary breath escaped dean's lips.

"we'll be just fine," he assured, his hand comfortingly running up and down the canyon of your back.

despite how much exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, the cold still rattled you awake. your mind raced, one thought after the other, and your muscles ached for a good night's rest and a swig of whisky to speed up the process. the idea of how vulnerable you were being with dean wasn't helping, either.

but you told yourself it was strictly for survival. wasn't it? it's why when you asked dean if you could start invading his space—but not those exact words—he answered with "i said i'd keep you warm, didn't i?" in his smooth tone. it's why you two were currently chest-to-chest with your legs intertwined. it's why, when you eventually rolled back over, dean's chest was flush with your back and his arm lazily hung over your waist—for warmth, of course.

but none of those excuses soothed your mind.

"dean?" you started, your voice a question and breath that tread the air lightly. he hummed in acknowledgement, slightly shifting in place. it was a sleepy hmmm?, yet it held no immediate signs of falling asleep, so you continued.

"thank you."

another short hum. "you don't gotta thank me."

"but i should."

dean's hand loosely laying over your stomach twitched. his knuckles gently brushed the midriff where your hoodie rode up. his fingers were electrifyingly cold, but you didn't push them away. instead, they grazed against your skin in soothing, slow caresses that made your eyes flutter shut and shock your nerves.

"'m just doin' what any decent guy would, sweetheart." dean mumbled against the shell of your ear, a chill tracing your spine from the timbre in his voice. you swallowed, hard, and you felt immobilized in a way that wasn't half bad. instead, you sucked in a long, shaky breath as your mind simultaneously short-circuited and rambled on.

"no... no decent guy would do this for someone." your voice was just below a whisper, but the room was quiet enough that it echoed off the bare walls. "'s much more than bein' decent."

and you only know this because dean was so much more than a decent guy. he was your hunting partner that patched you up when you were bloodied and half-indecent. he was your best friend that ate junk food with you in the impala when nobody was looking. if you were in the bathroom, he'd order your food for you because he had your favorite meals memorized by heart. he was the person you were honest to and spoke your mind with. he was the man who'd carry you to bed if you fell asleep in an uncomfortable chair. he was the one who tucked your hair behind your ear and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead afterward.

"so what am i, then?" his voice matched yours: whispering, like it was a secret just between you two.

"you're..." you paused. how could you articulate that? the feeling deep in your gut, the knowledge lodged in your mind with no equal translation in any spoken language? and how could you confess something like that to one of the closest people you have left?

"you're... you, y'know? 's what makes you special, dean. you're..." and you can't find a better substitute for the word that falls from your lips next, "perfect."

dean's breathing hitched in his chest, and so did yours. you braced yourself, waiting for... what? something. anything. regardless, you could hear your heart faintly throb in your ears as you counted the seconds of uninterrupted silence. one... two... three... four...

"say that again," dean pleaded, voice hoarse, his plush lips still pressed against your ear before drifting and dragging across your neck.

dean could smell your shampoo that made your hair shiny and soft, the scent of cheap vanilla-sandalwood perfume that he loved wafting from your pulse points, and couldn't hurdle over the addicting fact that it was all you. right beside him. not some girl in a magazine or at a bar that he assumed he'd end up with. you. your words echoed in his mind, over and over, consuming his thoughts.

perfect.

his calloused fingers continued their journey along the stretch of your stomach, the tips of them skimming your skin with feather-light touch, riding your sweater higher up. his breath was warm and his voice made you stiffen, "i need to hear you say that again. please..."

you were stunned, hesitant to move your lips or even subtly shift in place. somehow, you found the courage to flip over and face him, your faces just inches apart as your breath intermingled. your eyes immediately found his—wide, intimate, dark. dean wasted no time sneaking his hand back onto your waist. you sucked in a shaky breath and your tongue darted out to wet your lips, heart thundering in your chest like a million drums.

"you're perfect, dean. so damn per—"

before you could even finish, dean's lips were on yours. it was gentle: his plush lips desperate to meet yours in a warm greeting. a quiet squeal of surprise died in the back of your throat, but this time, your body didn't freeze or hesitate. you kissed him back with the same rawness, something hot blooming in your stomach.

your body instinctively pressed against the wall that was dean, your hand eagerly finding the side of his face and angling him just right to slot his lips perfectly between yours. a low growl pulled from dean's throat that spurred you on, enticing you to tangle your other hand in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer. dean did the same, instead fisting your hair and tangling his fingers in your locks, eliciting a purr. his other hand went to your lower back, shifting and bumping your hips against his, closing any room between you.

the first kiss was tender, a desperate plea of affirmation and invitation. dean's lips were so soft and waxy like lip balm, making yours just glide against him. then the kiss got messier, full of teeth carefully nipping and saliva pooling as dean's tongue sought out yours in a way that made you press your thighs together and made your brain foggy.

dean rolled you over, your back pressed into the mattress, his body hovering over yours. your lips separated for a second, but when they reconnected? dean's mouth moved feverishly, heatedly, in a way you liked more than you'd admit—if your unabashed moan went unnoticed. his hands went to your waist, grounding you and bruising in the process. your hands found his shoulders, claiming purchase there as your nails dug crescents into his skin.

"de-dean,"

"need you—" he gasped, head spinning on his shoulders. his hips involuntarily bucked into yours, drawing out a soft huff from your mouth that drove him feral as his fingers tightened their hold on you. he pulled away slightly, a shudder wracking through him, and a deep breath inflating his chest as he murmured, "christ, sweetheart."

you paused, a thin string of spit connecting your lips snapping as you hesitantly pulled away, gazing up at him warily. your eyes traced over each memorized freckle, mole, and scar littering his face and neck, your brows vaguely pulling together. "was it too much? 'm sorry, i—"

"no, no. not that, 's just..." he trailed off, swallowing as his eyes flickered to capture yours. you felt like slipping into a black void—hot and embarrassed. you swallowed hard as you anticipated what he was going to say next, waiting for him to dismiss your presence, your touch, or even a flicker of your gaze.

but he didn't.

because dean's more than decent.

dean's the one you come to for everything. he's the one who hugs you tighter, who brushes your hair and braids it when you give him your pouty eyes, who brews you a cup of coffee in the morning and adds the exact amount of sweetener that you like. he calls you when you're running late just to make sure you're okay.

"just thinkin'..."

"about?" you probe, your voice faltering. a shy, pink blush creeps over your cheeks as you bite the inside of your cheek, your hands relaxing and palms massaging his shoulders ever-so-gently. his gaze is strong. too strong, like he can see every imperfection in your face.

but then there was a shift in the air, a change of energy, when he answered. "you." his admission is barely above a whisper. you blinked at him, mind muddled as you waited for him to spell it out. a soft huff came out of his nose as his swollen lips parted open.

"you just... i can't stop thinkin' about you. ever." his breath hitches in your chest, and you're pretty sure you died awhile ago.

"you're so good to me, so... beautiful, and helluva partner..."

okay, so you were dreaming. surely, this was all your mind's twisted, sick work. but the pulse in your ears? the taste of cinnamon that lingered on your lips that wasn't there earlier?

your mind took a moment to catch up, but your hands were already there, reaching to cup his face in your palms, feeling the smooth skin and rigid jaw in your hands like delicate porcelain. you caught your bottom lip between your teeth as you shamelessly stared at his big, pretty eyes that watched you like you were mans last gift to earth.

and dean? his face was softening, his stomach churning as he came to the realization of what this was: a confession. he was so damn smitten, and the way you watched him only fanned the flames of yearning more than ever. his eyes traced your features one last time before his head dipped down, lips hovering over yours.

"i love you," then, just a beat of a second later,"'m so in love with you. have been since i first met you."

you felt your heart lurch into your throat at his words. you opened your mouth, but nothing came out, besides the soft crackle of your voice and an airy "de." but you did manage to do one thing:

"i love you, too. i think i always have,"

the second that left your lips, dean pressed his lips back against yours. it was feverish, heated, as much as it was passionate and an admission of want. his hands, calloused and scarred, slipped under your sweater, spanning across the broad plane of bare skin. you shivered at his touch, a light moan falling from your lips that dean opportunistically stole away from you.

"sorry, sweetheart," he mumbled, tongue running across your lip, mouth everywhere: pressing hot kisses to your jaw, muffled grunts against your neck that made you impatiently claw at his head of hair.

"'m gonna keep you warm, i promise."

──── ♱ ────

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You watch the sunlight float in through the windows, and hold your breath. 

If you don’t breathe, maybe you can trick this moment into lasting forever. 

Time suspends, in the air with the swirling dust of the motel and the quiet birdsong outside. Little trills and caws, as the light gets more golden, and you just pretend. These sheets are soft because they’re yours. This morning is light because there’s no pressure, pushing down on your chest. You heard the birds, and you’ll hear them tomorrow, and they’re all just singing for you. 

Dean is lying next to you, mouth hanging open and arm haphazardly thrown over your waist—such a light touch, like he knows he doesn’t have to pull that hard to get you back to him—not because of last night, but because this is just where he belongs. 

If you fall asleep again, he’ll be there when you wake up. If you press your face into his chest, you’ll hear his heartbeat without wondering if—for only a second—it’s ever belonged to you. If you reached out to touch his face, he’d lean into it, and your hand wouldn’t get swatted away with a stern glare. 

You’ve never been brave enough, to just reach out and touch him. Not when he’s quiet and vulnerable like this, and as strong as Dean is—a mountain of a man, unmoving and towering over everything, even Sam—you still feel like you could break him. That your fingers would trace over the wrong line of his face, and he’d dissolve under your hands. It’s something about how peaceful he looks. How his skin is little golden in the morning, and his hair seems to look softer and his lips get swollen with sleep. 

No armor made of sharp words or imposing presence. Not heat radiating from him like the sun, drawing you—and everyone else, but mostly you—in like moths. No anger, or sadness, or pain engraved onto ever deeper shadow of his handsome features. 

It’s just Dean, lain bare at your side, and not yours to see at all. 

You roll over and blink at the ceiling, watching it slowly lighten, and Dean’s hand flexes on your hip. He drags you a little closer, with a low grunt, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s nothing. It’s never anything, when his lips press to your neck and his rough, deliberate fingers dip slightly under your shirt to trace your spine. This would have to be something different, for it to be something. You’d have to not have rails up, to block yourself from toppling over and bursting into tears every time he gives you that look, and you know you’re not sleeping alone. 

It’s always just a look. 

That’s how it started. Just one, strange look from Dean one night at a bar, and then suddenly he was kissing you in an alleyway and hiking your leg up to rub his hand over your core. 

“You know that wasn’t-“ He’d sighed your name the next morning, as you’d sat on the couch with your knees curled to your chest. “Can you look at me?”

You’d nodded, and turn with a plastered smile, so well-crafted and fucking delicate just one word would have shattered it like China. “Yeah.”

“I don’t do relationships.” Dean had muttered, watching you carefully from the bed. His shirt had still been off, and it had only felt a little cruel. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” Shorter answers had been better. Safer. Made it sound like you really didn’t care at all. 

Dean had fallen for it. He’d nodded slowly, and never once looked like he doubted a word slipping out of your mouth. 

“Good. But, while I got you here,” he’d giving you the charming, rogue, wouldn’t it be easy to fall in love with me, but don’t try to drive down this one-way road, grin, and your fingers had curled into fists in your lap. 

Where he couldn’t see them. 

“You’re clean. I’m clean. We’re pretty fuckin’ good at that,” he’d jerked his head back to the bed. “I’m willing to jump back in, whenever you need something scratched. Long as you scratch me back, y’know. That’s the classic deal.”

It was the classic deal.

But you’d watched enough movies to know that the other part of the classic deal—the one Dean seemed to have been leaving out, because he doesn’t watch chick flicks so he doesn’t know they can be cautionary tales—was that it never ends well. Someone falls in love, and someone breaks the other’s heart. 

You’d lied to yourself. You’d said it would be different, because you were already in love with Dean, and he’s broken your heart in a million silent ways before. It’s always glued itself back together, even if your hands have end up with jagged cults that sting when you try to touch someone else. 

It’s not different. 

Dean still doesn’t know he breaks your heart, with every single look of him needing you, but not wanting you. With every flirty comment at a witness, or joke with Sam about bein’ a lone wolf, Sammy, I’ll settle down when I’m dead. 

Or worse, the way he won’t treat you like only a hookup when he’s buried inside of you or laying between your legs, but doesn’t even acknowledge that this happens once you leave the bed. 

It’s why you’re not moving now. 

It’s why you have those rails up. Dean can keep breaking your heart all he wants. He doesn’t get to take anything else. 

You don’t make flirting comments back anymore, when he teases you. You walk behind him now, so you don’t have to feel his stare. You don’t pull away when he drags you to his chest in his sleep, but you don’t hug him either. Not even outside of the motel rooms.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He’d asked you last night, a few hours before the look, and you’d smiled at him. 

“I’m always okay. I was born okay.” You’d turned away from him, and the low light had been hiding the tears in your eyes. Your voice hadn’t had the same kind of loyalty. “I’m great.”

Dean had made a motion like he was going to reach for you. A lurching step, his hands flying out and face drawn with worry. You’d taken the smallest pace back. 

That had been all it took to make him give up. 

That’s always all it takes. 

And you didn’t stop time. Eventually you have to pee, and you climb out of bed without looking back. Stare at yourself in the mirror, at the hickeys on your neck, and wonder if Dean will even remember putting them there after you cover them up.

It doesn’t matter. It never matters. 

You’re almost done with the case—just a salt and burn—and by tomorrow you’ll be back at the bunker. Where you seem to transform from something Dean looks at, to something he files into the same category as his brother. 

Still important to him. 

Probably less sexual than his fucking car. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean says when you come back out of the bathroom, and you’re not sure how he got up so fast. “Have a nice piss?”

“The best.” You mutter, and he holds out a cup of coffee for you.

“You ready to kick ghost ass so we can get the hell out of here?”

You take the coffee and just hum, shuffling over to the table. Dean doesn’t push you. He never pushes you, when it’s about anything but safety.

That would imply he cares where you end up. 

“I think I know what we gotta do.” He tells you over breakfast, and you hum, spinning your fork in your hands. “Found the grave, ran it by Sammy, he says it’s the guy we’re looking for. We can head there this evening, so we don’t get caught grave digging again. Spend the day just camping so no one else gets whammied by this son of a bitch.”

“Okay.” You poke at your pancakes, and Dean says your name with a tight frown. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

You sigh. “I told you, Dean, I’m fine-“

“You’re not acting fine.” He grunts, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t accuse me of messing up the last grave we dug.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No, I just-“ His fingers tap quickly on the table, and he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

You don’t mind. You let it wash over you, and you walk behind Dean back to the car. For most of the stakeout, you keep your eyes closed so you can only hear the music. 

But there are moments of weakness. 

There are always moments of weakness. 

“I fucking hate these pretzels.” You grumble, poking at the bag, and Dean chuckles. 

“You bought those, sweetheart, you got no one to blame but yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to buy them.” You shoot him a glare. “You could’ve stopped me.”

“And how the hell would I have stopped you?”

“By reminding me that I hate these pretzels-“

“I did remind you,” he drawls your name, giving you an amused look. “I said hey, whenever you get those you end up just throwing them at my face and stealing my shit, put them back, and you ignored me.”

“Oh.” You flush. “Shut up.”

“That doesn’t sound like sorry- Fuck-“

You laugh as one of the pretzels hit his cheek, and Dean groans.

“Fine. I’m never lettin’ you get those again. I’ll tackle you next time.”

“You’ll tackle me?” You raise your brows, and he nods, drumming arrhythmically on the wheel. 

“I’ll jump you, sweetheart, don’t test me.” He pauses. “That’s not a challenge.”

You grin at him. “It sounds like a challenge. I think I’d win anyway?”

He snorts. “You think you’d win if I tackled you?”

“I’d get away.” You shrug. “I’m slippery, like a seal. You wouldn’t be able to get a grip, then I’d just wiggle away.”

Dean makes a low sound, shifting in his seat, and shakes his head. “You’d just wiggle away, huh.”

“Yep. You wouldn’t even know what happened.” You pause. “Or I’d kick you in the balls.”

“Christ.” He mutters, lips twitching in the dark. “You know I love it when you talk dirty, baby.” 

Shit. “All for you, Winchester.” You pop another shitty pretzel into your mouth, playing it off. “I know it turns you on when I threaten you.”

He chuckles. “I think I just like fuckin’ the sass out of you.” He shoots you one of those looks, and you can resist this. You just have to stop flirting back, to keep the guards up, to remind yourself that the sex means nothing. 

To him. 

Never to you—to you, it’s the closest you’re ever going to get to the stratosphere, the only kind of heaven you’ll be allowed to see—but to Dean. It means nothing. 

“And you’ve really succeeded into that so far.” You mutter, making your voice a little more bitter, a little more spiked, than you can manage to actually feel.

Dean just shrugs. “Takes some time, sweetheart. You got a big mouth, can’t fill it up all at once.” 

There’s a slight pause as you try to figure out how to stab him back without the blade turning on you, but Dean clears his throat and breaks it first.

“And I’m not gonna tackle you. I’ll just go in myself. Get you what you want, keep you away from the pretzels.”

“Dean, you don’t know what I’d want-“

“Yeah, I do.” He waves you off with a small grin, and there’s the weakness. You can survive the electric, when he flirts. You can’t survive the warmth, waving in the air between you, reminding you that he really does care. He knows what you’d want, because you’re more to him than just one night but not enough to just lean over and kiss him right now. 

“Fine.” You wrinkle your nose at him, looking away before he somehow sees it on your face. How your stupid heart is breaking again. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Try and toss them into my mouth.”

“Dean-“

“You’re not eating them, gotta prevent food waste or whatever.” He bumps your shoulders together. “C’mon.”

You roll your eyes, but turn and start to toss them into his mouth. And it hurts, with every giggle and small joke. It hurts that he can do this with you when your knees are only casually bumping, but not when he’s whispering filth in your ear. 

But that’s why you have the rails up. This is Dean, your friend, who throws M&Ms into your mouth and listens to you when you start to ramble about something dumb, after the snacks run out. Who jokes and teases you and makes you stand guard while you’re grave digging, instead of letting you help.

“Latest report,” you call down to him. “There’s a fox up here. It’s my new best friend.”

“What?” He looks up at you, and you grin. “What’s it got that I don’t?”

“A tail.”

“I can grow a tail.” He shovels out another thing of dirt, and you giggle.

“Can you catch me squirrels?”

“I dunno. Probably. That all I gotta do to be number one again?”

“Oh, Dean.” You give him a teasing pout. “You were never number one.”

He groans. “Sam’s the one who messed up your laundry, sweetheart, don’t forget that-“

“Sam’s not number one either.”

“Well, who the hell am I losing to then?”

“The concept of time.” You hum, looking back up the graveyard, and Dean snorts.

“Yeah, yeah, alright-“

“All these creepy dead people? They’re my best friends.”

“This one tried to kill you,” he drawls your name, and you can hear his smile. It pulls on your own. 

“We have a complicated relationship. She tries to kill me, I try to kill her, but at the end of the day? Best friends.”

Dean laughs again, the sound echoing through the night and making it warmer, and there’s no way to freeze time here. 

No way to freeze it ever. 

He hops out of the grave, lights the bitch up, and looks at you with bright eyes in the light of the fire. With all the shadows and light, it’s sort of like he really is just a comet that crashed out of the sky, and right into your side. You’re blinking at him a little too slow, before he looks away. 

“You want to make marshmallows?” You say, trying to lighten the taut, painful and hungry feeling in your chest, and Dean’s grin almost knocks you off your feet and right into the fire. 

The heat can’t be that much worse than what you’re feeling right now. 

“Not on the dead body, but we can get some in the car tomorrow.” He puts a hand on your back, and slowly starts to guide you away. “Bet I can fit more in my mouth than you can.”

You scoff. “That’s a stupid bet, your mouth is bigger.”“Hell yeah, it is.” He winks at you, and you whack his chest. The lingering warmth of the fire hides your flush. 

And even if it didn’t, it’s not like he ever sees. 

Dean makes you go get drinks, before you leave town. He always wants to get drinks. You’re pretty sure it’s so he can draw that hard line back up, when he takes someone else, and you know that there’s nothing for you to cling onto. No hope. No delusions that he loves you back. Just Dean, leaning on the bar and flirting with some redhead while you try to see how many shots you can get in before they cut you off. You know how this dance goes. You’ve done it a million time. 

You pretend that you don’t care, when nails trace on Dean’s forearm and he grins like he won the lottery. You get drunk enough that it’s all just a little numb. Dean disappears to the bathroom, you stare at the shelf behind the bar, and try to count how many bottles there are. Dean comes back with a lazy smile, and tells you it’s time to go. 

And you do, because part of Dean having your heart means he gets to pull on it, and tug you wherever he wants. 

Then you end up back at the bunker, the slate wipes clean, and you sit in a purgatory of waiting for the next case. For the next time the mountain is going to ask you to climb it, as if you’re more than an ant. For when the Sun is going to shine, and it’s only going to be for you. In the dead of night, where no one else can see, and it’ll be gone in the morning. 

This is all going to be gone in the morning.

“Hey, doll. Drinkin’ all alone?” 

You glance up, and find a pretty, rough featured man grinning at you. He’s got perfectly straight, shining white teeth, and messy hair. He looks like he’d been pulled out of one of those old black and white movies Dean likes. His hand is resting near your elbow, brushing lightly as he leans towards you, and there’s no electricity. No little sparks that fly through you like lightning, the way that Dean’s touch does. This man’s lips pull into a smirk, and it’s not none of the charm Dean’s has. There’s a scar on his cheek, but it makes him look less heroic—like Dean—and more like someone you’d regret ending up behind a closed door with. 

It’s not fair to be comparing him to Dean so much. He can’t be blamed for not being the man you love, because no one ever comes close. And he doesn’t have that snake-like glint in his eyes that always makes you cover your drink. 

This won’t go anywhere. 

At least while you’re looking at him, you won’t have to look at Dean and his redhead. 

“I wasn’t.” You smile at him, a little polished and polite. “But I am now.”

“Well, only a fool is leavin’ something like you behind.” The man drawls, and you raise your brows.

“Something?”

He doesn’t skip a beat. “You’re too gorgeous to be anything human, sweetheart. That’s all.”

You smile softly, looking back to your drink, and you can feel something prickling on the back of your neck. It feels like a wired, burning heat. The buzzing feeling you only get under Dean’s attention.

When you risk a quick look, out of the corner of your eyes, he’s staring at you. The redhead is draped over him, and his hand is on her waist, but he’s looking right at you. 

Code red? You mouth to him with a small frown—he and Sam have a bad habit of making out with monsters, so you had to develop a whole fucking plan for it—and his jaw just clenches. 

Weirdo. 

You look back to the man with another smile. If Dean’s not about to sleep with a vampire or something, you just don’t want to see it. 

“Smooth recovery.” You tell him, and the man lets out a low laugh, extending his hand. 

“Archer. I never leave pretty girls at bars.”

You say your name, taking his hand. “Admirable of you. Let me know if you find any.”

He laughed again. “You got a mouth on you, huh?”

“So I’ve been told.” You hum, and Archer’s grin grows. 

“You talk big when you play darts?” He leans in a little closer, and he mostly smells like booze and oddly sweet amber. “You seem like the kinda girl that would be good at dart.”

“Well,” you smile at him. “Why don’t we find out if I am.”

Archer helps you up, and he really is nice enough. He doesn’t get mad when you beat him at darts, but he also stands a little too close the whole time. He throws too much with his shoulder, and you don’t think he’d be open to the feedback, so you just laugh softly at all his jokes. They’re not bad jokes, but they have an edge that might cut you if you’re not careful. You’re already good at cutting into yourself with words. You don’t need Archer to do it for you. 

That’s one of the reasons you love Dean. All his jokes are so fucking stupid, and they feel like being wrapped in a hug or having the barbed wire around you softened into nothing. 

You need to stop comparing him to Dean. 

But it’s hard, when he’s right across the room. Still with his redhead, who’s combing her fingers through his hair possessively, and pouting at him with honeyed words he can’t seem to hear any better than you. She touches him like he’s hers. 

Right now, he is. Maybe more than he’s ever yours.

But he’s still glowering at you. It’s like a dagger, driving into your heart and making you a little dizzy. 

You look away. 

If he needs you, he’ll come get you. 

And he never does. 

You spend the rest of the night drinking with Archer, trading sharp jokes like a sparring match and grinning in the hazy light of the bar. His hand rests on your hip while you choose a song from the jukebox. Sits next to you in a booth, thighs pressed together, and his shiny grin completely focused on you. It doesn’t make you feel gooey and malleable, like Dean’s does. For a moment you think Archer at least gives you the hummingbird heartbeat that Dean does—where your breath gets shallow and your hands get restless to touch—but that’s just Dean. 

Still staring at you. 

All fucking night. 

“So,” Archer drawls, and you refuse to look away from him. It takes more effort than when you stare at Dean. It’s less magnetic. 

You need to fucking stop. 

“You’re not from ‘round here, are you doll?”

You grin at him, playing with the straw in your glass. “You’re just asking that now?”

“Forgive me,” he places a hand over his heart. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t just a dream.”

“Yeah, okay.” You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not from here. I’m passing through for work.”

“Ah. Any chance you might pass through more than once?”

“Depends. Are you going to murder someone to make me come back?”

Archer’s brows raise. “Murder? What, you a fed?”

“No. I’m more of a… private investigator.”

“Interesting. You dazzle them out of all their secrets, doll?” He smirks at you, and you tense slightly.

“Actually, I’m the muscle.” You hum, just to test how he reacts. 

Another laugh. It was a joke. You can’t fault him for that.

Dean would’ve laughed as well.

But Dean never would’ve said you dazzle. He would’ve chuckled and said something like private investigator? Like those mind-reader shows? 

You would’ve said, Yeah, but I don’t need to read minds. People usually tell you everything by themselves. 

Yeah? He would’ve leaned in, holding your gaze. What am I telling you, sweetheart?

And you would’ve flushed, and whispered. You’ll have to pay me first.

Dean would’ve made a big show of grabbing a twenty out of his wallet and passing it to you. Would’ve said something else like, probably should be worried you got me all figured out-.

Archer says your name, and you blink at him. 

“Huh?”

“I was askin’ if you wanted to get out of here.” Archer grins at you, leaning in so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. “I got a truck you can investigate, doll?”

You swallow. You can’t.

Archer is nice. 

He’s not Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” You give him a small smile, bracing for a possible fight. “I have to leave pretty early in the morning. I can’t tonight.”

Archer shrugs it off. “Alright. I leave my number. But-“ He hasn’t leaned back. “Price of it is one kiss.”

You let out a slow breath, and nod. Archer almost crashes into you, a little more rough and passionate than it feels like it needs to be. There’s a lot more teeth and spit than there needs to be. It’s clumsy, and mostly him grabbing your jaw and you trying to breathe through your nose. Not the worst kiss of your life.

Nothing you’re going to remember in a week, no matter how Archer presses into you. 

Dean snaps your name, and you pull back suddenly with wide eyes. 

He’s standing at your booth, his redhead nowhere in sight. You’ve never seen his jaw that tight before, and his arms are crossed over his chest the same way he headlocks a demon so Sam can exorcise it. 

The same way he’s head locked you, when it’s dark outside and he’s shoving his hand between your thighs, keeping you pressed against him while you scream his name, overwhelmed with his fingers playing your pussy and his lips attached to your neck- 

Not a helpful thought to be having right now. 

“What’s up, man.” Archer grins at Dean lazily, wiping his mouth, and Dean’s nostrils flare. 

“We need to go.” He grunts your name, gaze fixed on yours, as if Archer isn’t even there. “Sam called. Might be a storm. Don’t wanna drive Baby in the rain.”

You frown—he drives Baby in the rain all the time—but don’t call after him when he marches away. 

“Sorry.” You mumble to Archer. “He takes his car really seriously.”

“’S alright. You want, you can call me if he’s an ass to you, and I’ll beat him up.”

Archer grins as he says that, sliding you the paper with his number, and you press your lips together. Dean’s never an ass to you. He’s just frustrated about something, because that’s how he acts when he’s about to snap, and trying to shove it down. You know him. You know whatever it is isn’t your business, and he won’t take it out on you, but it’s best not to push him when he’s trying to push it down. 

You wish, more than anything, that if you took his hand and asked him what was wrong, he’d tell you. 

But he won’t. So you kiss Archer’s cheek, thank him—and murmur another apology when Dean barks your name from the door—and walk away. You don’t look back. Archer’s nice. You might end up back here in a few week, if you get lonely enough. 

But right now, everything you love is in front of you. 

Grumpy and silent, barely speaking in more than grunts, but in front of you. 

Dean still opens the door for you. Still guides you through it with a hand on your lower, and helps you into the Impala before rounding the hood with a scowl. He turns on the engine a little more aggressively than he needs to, and grips the wheel with white knuckles, glowering out at the road. You want to reach over and rest your hand on his knee. Ask him what’s wrong, if you can help. 

Help by talking about it, or help by letting him fuck it out into you, until he collapsed with a groan of your name and his brow pressed to yours. Then he could say that’s just what I needed sweetheart, thank you, and you’d say always, and he’d look at you like he was seeing you for the first time-

“That guy looked like a discount cowboy.” Dean grunts, and you blink at him. 

“Who?”

“The dude you were with.” He won’t look away from the road. “Looked like someone pulled him right off the street.”

“Oh.” You look down to your fingers. “He was nice.”

“Yeah, I bet he was.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“You gonna go back and see him?” Dean ignores your question, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break his own hand.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I- He was nice.” 

Dean’s jaw ticks. “You said that already.”

“Yeah, well- He was.” You sink into your seat, glaring at your nails. “And he liked me.”

Dean laughs, cold and flat, and you scowl at him.

“Why is that funny, Dean? Is it really that insane to you that someone might actually like me?”

“I never said that.” He snaps, and you roll your eyes. 

“Really? Because it fucking sounds like you think him liking me is funny-“

“It’s not.”

“The why’d you laugh, Winchester?” Your heart feels like it’s ripping apart. Splintering and fracturing, all the glue that kept it together unraveling, and you don’t know why this is the line. Dean’s been mad at you before, when you jumped in front of him during a hunt or made a choice he didn’t agree with. But it’s how he fights with everyone he cares about. 

This is different. 

This is about nothing, and even if you’re not the source of his wrath, you’re the target. And you don’t even get a grumble of Sam messed up or found out someone died. He’s just pissed, and he’s being a dick, and you’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t hurt. 

He can’t just laugh. 

It’s killing you faster than the indifference did. 

“Is it hilarious to you?” You sneer, twisting to fully face him. “The idea that someone could actually talk to me, and find me interesting, and want to see me again?”

“I never said that, sweetheart-“

“Don’t sweetheart me, Dean. You can’t fucking fathom that maybe someone would find me attractive-“

“I never said that.” He snaps your name, and some small part of you that’s only there to please him cowers. “I just meant that discount cowboy isn’t fuckin’ special for finding you attractive, alright. Don’t matter how nice he is.” The words sound like they’re physically hurting him. “He’s not the only douchebag who likes you.”

You snort. “Yeah, alright. I think you just don’t want to lose your fucktoy.”

The car jerks slightly. “Don’t fuckin’ say that.”

“Why not?” You lean back into your seat, propping your knees on the dashboard. “Once I find someone who actually likes me, which I will because apparently they’re everywhere and just alluding me somehow, you lose your backup, Winchester. You can’t wrap your head around a world without your plan B, if you strike out. You can’t imagine that they’d kiss me in public, instead of behind a door so nobody else has to see. That they wouldn’t want to go around and fuck someone else while they kept me on standby.”

Dean’s words are pushed through his teeth. “Oh, he’ll fuck someone else, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.”

You gape at him, blood pounding in your ears. “What the fuck is your problem, Dean?”

“Nothing.” He mutters, and you scoff. 

“Nothing.” You echo, tone filled with more venom than you thought you were capable of, and you could swear you see him flinch. “You know, he did like me. He laughed at all my jokes, and he paid attention to me, and maybe I will go see him. Maybe we’ll fall in love, and I’ll move out, and I can send you Christmas cards every year so you can see how much he actually fucking likes me-“

You cut yourself off with a noise of surprise, as Dean turns the car and slams on the breaks. Your stupid, traitorous hands fly to grab him, because he’s still the safest place in the world, even when he’s being a dick. 

Dean stares out at the dark of the woods, breathing heavily. You slowly draw your hands away, and wrap your arms around your stomach. Too far. You pushed it too far.

“I’m-“

“Shut up.” He grunts, and you scowl.

“I’m trying to apologize to you, asshole-“

“Save it. Don’t want it.” 

“I- You don’t get to stop my apology-“

“You don’t- No.” He bows his head, fingers still clenched on the wheel. “You didn’t do anything, sweetheart. Just- Forget it.”

You stare at him. Forget it. He wants you to just fucking forget it, and you can’t. 

“Dean.” You say, lowering your voice like you’re telling him a secret. “You- I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” He looks up at you with a rough glare, voice hoarse. “Don’t- I said you didn’t do anything-“

“It seems like I did.” You hold his gaze, refusing to let your voice falter. “Considering you fucking shouted at me and pulled over.”

He blinks at you, then lets out a dry, humorless. “So you want me to apologize? That all I gotta do, to make you drop it?”

“No, I want you to tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” You let out a long, slow breath. “Just- Please. We don’t have to talk about feelings, but just say like, you forgot to get me a drink and we’ll… pretend this never happened.”

Dean stares at you for a moment. “You think I’d get that pissed because you forgot to get me a drink?”

“No.” You mumble, picking at your nails again. “That was just an example.”

He keeps staring at you, tapping his fingers on the wheel again, and lets out a slow breath. “Do you really believe that?”

You frown. “No, I told you, I was just thinking of something stupid and random, like a drink-“

“No, not that.” He sighs, scanning over your face for something he can’t seem to find. “You think I don’t actually like you? That you’re just my backup, that I’m ashamed of you or something?”

“Oh.” You flush, and suddenly you can’t bear to look at him, but you can’t figure out how to look away. “Maybe.”

“Maybe-“ 

“I don’t know, Dean, and- I don’t know why that’s important, it’s just- I was angry, I was just saying things-“

“But you believe them.” He mutters. “Fucktoy, sweetheart. That’s what you said.”

“I- Yeah.” You swallow. “This isn’t about me, Dean.”

He laughs dryly, looking out to the road with a shake of his head. “Yeah. It’s not about you.”

“Dean-“

“It’s always about you,” he says your name, giving you a strange look. “Every time, it’s- Goddamnit, it’s never not about you, and I didn’t- I never thought that was something- It’s always about you.” He says it again. He keeps saying it. Like  mantra. “You wanna know what’s wrong, sweetheart. You really wanna know?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice, and his throat bobs. 

“I didn’t like it. Seein’ you with him. Didn’t like that you smiled at him. Didn’t like how you were looking at him. Didn’t like how he was touching you.” He glares out at the night, hands twitching slightly. “Didn’t like it.”

There’s a long moment of silence, as his words sink into you, and you start to feel a little dizzy.

“You- Dean-“ 

“I know what it sounds like. But- I never once thought of you as plan B.” He turns back to you, eyes shining in the dark. “Ever.”

You shake your head, voice barely more than a breath. “Dean, you- You can’t say that-“

“You asked me what was wrong. I’m telling you the truth-“

“That’s not the truth-“

“Yeah. It is. Like it or-“

“You don’t even let me have sex with you when we’re home, Dean!” You cut him off, voice rising quickly. “You- You don’t even look at me, you’ve never once said anything, and if you did you’d have said something like- We’ve been doing this for nine months-“

“I didn’t think about it until tonight, alright-“

“No,” you shake your head, reaching for the door. “No, you just didn’t think you could lose me until tonight, then suddenly it’s always about me-“

“Shit, no- Wait-“ He grabs your arm, eyes filled with a strange kind of pain. “I didn’t mean it like that, don’t- I didn’t know. It was always about you but I didn’t let myself fuckin’ think about it, and I didn’t think about how I can’t lose you until I could see it, and I hated it, and- Just don’t walk away,” he says your name, and it comes out low and desperate. “I know it’s fucked, sweetheart, but I didn’t let you in my room ‘cause then it would be something real that I could lose, and turns out I can lose it anyway, and- Don’t walk away. Don’t.”

You blink at him, and let go of the handle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite, Dean Winchester.”

He lets out a low breath, drawing back his seat with that flat, empty amusement. “I don’t think I am, sweetheart. Road’s gotta go both ways for that.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and he frowns at you.

“What.”

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing-“

“No.” You shoot him a tight smile. “But you see how annoying that is?”

He stares at you, then chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Alright. Fair hit.”

“Thank you.” You look down to your nails, then mumble. “It goes both ways.”

“It- What?” 

“Why do you think I cared so much, about being your fucktoy?”

“Uh-“ He coughs. “Objectification?”

You laugh softly, and there’s no fight left in you. “No. I- I hate it.” You look up at him, letting the words spill out of you before you can stop them. “I hate it when you go home with other people. I hate it when you fuck me then pretend it didn’t happen. I hate it when you break my heart and put it back together and never even think about what you’re doing.”

“I-“

“I hate it because it’s not fair.” You whisper, and he stares at you with a slack expression. “It’s not fair that I love you and I have to pretend that I don’t.”

Dean rasps your name, and you give him a small, sad smile.

“But I do love you, Dean. And I don’t hate that.”

He swallows, then shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” You lean forward, bracing your hand on his knee. “Do you love me?”

Dean stares at you, his hands flexing on the wheel again, and you don’t look away. Don’t take it back. It’s too late for that, and you don’t want to back. Not if you’re headed where you think you are. 

“You don’t- Son of a bitch-“ Dean looks away, shaking his head. “Don’t just say that- You don’t get what you’re doin’, sweetheart.”

You just keep watching him, waiting, and he looks back to you with an expression like you’re physically hurting him, and something shifting in his eyes.

“Say it again.” He mutters, and you smile.

“I love you, Dean.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, and almost lunges for you. Wraps his hand around your neck and pulls you forward, grabbing your thigh and dragging it over his. Dean’s lips smash into yours with a brutal fervor, and your hands shoot to grab his shirt in an attempt to balance on his lap. 

Dean wraps his arm fully around you, and balance isn’t a problem anymore. You’re pinned to his chest as he kisses you like he wasn’t just kissing you last night, like he’s never going to kiss you again. Like he’s been starved of it, and can’t do anything but devour you and hope it saves him. You wrap an arm around his neck as a small sound of need leaves your throat, and Dean grunts, deepening the kiss by pressing your head closer. It a rough, messy kiss, but it’s fucking wet and breathless and making your head spin because you don’t ever want to pull away. 

Your nails dig into his neck as he pulls you a little further forward, making your core press right against his crotch. He’s pressing through his jeans and hard, and your mouth falls open in a wanting moan as you start to grind down on him. Just a little friction is all you need, and Dean is swallowing every sound, and with the jerk of his hips up when you bite on his lip, maybe he’ll give you everything you want-

He grunts, and suddenly you’re being flipped over. Pinned down on the bench, Dean never once breaking the kiss. One of his hands shoots under your shirt to trace your sides, and it sends little shivers through you that make your back arch. 

“Dean-“ You whisper, the sound falling into a broken moan when his hips drop over yours. “Oh, god- You didn’t-“ His knee pushes up, right against your core, and you push out the words before you forget you were ever fighting at all. “We were talking-“

“Yeah, I know.” Dean kisses the corner of your mouth. “And I love you,” he mutters your name, lips wandering everywhere on your face. “Love so much it makes me fuckin’ sick, sweetheart. Made me want to rip off his arms then rip off mine for letting someone else-“ He takes a ragged breath, pressing his brow against yours and searching your open face with hooded, shining eyes. 

“Dean, I-“

“Never think of anyone but you.” He rasps, leaning down to kiss you again, this time slower, with so much care it almost breaks your heart. “And I’ll keep tellin’ you, I swear. Never gonna be a question, you’re never gonna think I don’t care, I-“ He leans up, handsome features almost fallen in desperation. “Won’t mess it up this time, baby, it can be whatever you want.” He reaches out, tracing his thumb over your cheeks. “I can be whatever you want.” 

“Dean,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his face. “I just want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

You stare at each other, and you’re not entirely sure this isn’t a dream. But Dean feels real, over you. Settled between your legs and hard and looking at you with obvious, plain adoration written on his face. It’s a look you’ve only ever seem limited to his eyes, in the dead of night. 

But now it’s all you can see. And it’s every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. 

Dean’s throat bobs, and he dives back down, pressing another, softer and passionate kiss to your lips. You hum happily into it, and his lips curve into a grin. 

Then he’s gone. 

Dean sits up, taking you with him, and moves you back into your own seat as he looks back to the wheel. You blink at him, so cold from the loss of him everywhere over you. You’re about to open your mouth and plead for him to come back, or maybe just cry, when he grabs your thigh and squeezes. 

“Sorry, baby.” He mutters, glancing over his shoulder to the road. “We’re not doin’ this here.”

“Doing-“ Your mouth falls open as his hand moves up, letting two fingers press against your aching center. “Oh.”

He smirks, rubbing his fingers back and forth with slow, teasing motions as he pulls back onto the road.

“Dean.” You whisper, grabbing his wrist as it starts to feel unbearable. “Why, I- We can do it in the car, I don’t mind-“

“I mind.” He grunts, curling his fingers so his knuckles press against you. “You think I don’t wanna have you in my room, so we’re goin’ there.”

“But there’s still and hour-“

“So sit still, baby.” He drawls, using the low taunting voice that follows you into most dreams. “You can take what you want,” he rubs his knuckles, and you head falls back with a moan. “But you’re cumming ‘least three times once I get you in my bed. So play careful.”

You glare at him, squeezing his wrist like it can somehow teleport you back to the bunker, and Dean’s grin just widens.

“You know how pretty you are, when you’re pissed at me?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, dropping your face into his shoulder, and he laughs, kissing your brow.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dean’s hand between your legs shifts—easily despite your hold on him—and suddenly his palms is pressed over your clit, his fingers crooking right over where he knows your entrance is. And you might have given him too much power, but there’s no one else you’d rather have this effect on you. No one else would so stupidly obey your command with such a strange, smug pride on their face. Dean keeps humming along with the radio and lazily rubbing his fingers like this is just perfectly normal. A little boring, as if your cunt is just a toy for him to play with while he drives. 

But you can see the evidence of his own desperation, pressing through his jeans. And when you press your thighs together, trapping his hand, he grunts and flexes his fingers. A moan slips through your lips and he grins with that same, smug pride, repeating the movement. The louder you moan, the more he looks like a child on Christmas. 

And it can’t be comfortable, how hard he is right now. 

You can help with that. 

You lean back, grabbing his arm and slowly dragging it away. Dean shoots you a curious look, but—per your earlier instructions—doesn’t say anything. You give him an innocent, slightly pouting smile, and trace your hand up his thigh until you’re brushing against his cock through his jeans.

He coughs, grabbing your wrist. “What’re you doin’.” 

It’s not a question. He fucking knows, with how his ears are red and voice is low.

“Nothing.” You hum, scooting a little close on the bench, and his throat bobs. 

“You don’t gotta-“

“I want to.” You hum, brushing your lips over his neck. “Please?”

“Jesus.” He mutters, already sounding wrecked, and lets go of your wrist. “Yeah, okay. Just- be careful, don’t hit your head on the wheel or somethin’-“

“You thought I was talking about going down on you?”

He shoots you a slack, guilty look, and you giggle.

“Don’t worry, I was.” You squeeze him over his jeans, and Dean lets out the loudest, longest moan of your name you’ve ever heard. You could get addicted to that. 

You kind of already have. 

With slow, careful hands, you unzip his jeans. Dean lets out another guttural sound as you pull out his cock, rock hard and already weeping with pre-cum. You swipe your thumb over the angry head of him, then stroke him with a firm, dragging pace. A vein in his neck bulges, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm as his grip on the wheel looking like he’s about to try and rip it from the car. 

You squeeze the base of his cock, then lean down to swipe a tiny, kitten lick over the slit. 

He makes that same, loud and desperate moan of your name, and you can feel his thick muscles fighting to not slam up into your mouth. You wrap your lips fully around him, swirling your tongue and sucking like he’s the best lollipop you’ve ever had, and Dean makes a broken, pained sound that vibrates through you. 

“Son of a bitch, baby.” His voice is loud and rough, sweeping straight through you like an electric fire. “Gonna fuckin’ kill me- Christ-“

You start to bob your head up and down until he’s hitting the back of your throat, and wrap your hand around what you can’t fit in your mouth. His cock is heavy on your tongue, and he keeps groaning your name, and you can feel your own arousal starting to drip down your thighs. It’s too much heat for you to handle yourself, and this has always been the part where Dean takes over. But when you drag one of his hands down to grab your hair, he just holds it with a loose grip and keeps still below you.

You double your efforts, starting to grind against the air and moaning around him, and Dean chuckles.

“Too much, baby? You start somethin’ you can’t finish?”

No. You can finish it. Dean’s hand is gliding away from your head to rub your back, and you can finish this yourself. You whine and moan around him, speeding up until you’re lightheaded, and you’re rewarded with the deepest, most desperate groan of your name yet. 

You smile around him, using every broken noise from Dean’s chest as fuel, and keep fucking the air as you suck him off. You know what the sight is doing to him. His hand on your back is pressing and firm, his thighs are strained as you drive him right up to the edge, and he’s losing control faster and faster. 

Dean ruts up into your mouth with a groan. “Shit- Baby, you gotta- I’m ‘bout to-“

You throw everything you have into him, moaning his name as he hits the back of your throat, and Dean’s hips slam up so fast you almost choke.

“Fuck- Sorry, sweetheart-“

You shake your head, even as tears prick at your eyes, and don’t stop. 

Dean cums down your throat with an almost feral groan of your name, and the leash he’d been keeping on himself snaps. He fucks up into your mouth as he cums, and when you risk a look up at him under your lashes, he staring at you like you’ve fallen from space. Hooded eyes and face painted with a hungry, insatiable kind of pleasure. 

You swallow every bit of his release. You pull off of him with a pop, and barely get a chance to lick your lips before he’s dragging you up into a heavy, deep kiss. 

Dean groans at the taste of himself on your lips. “Look at you, doing it all by yourself.” He drawls. “Dirty girl, you get off sucking my cock, don’t you baby?”

“Yes.” You whisper, and Dean’s grin widens.

“You wanna see what I get off on?”

You nod, mouth hanging slightly open, and Dean drags you into another, deep, heavy kiss. 

“Lemme show you, sweetheart. C’mon.” 

You’re not sure exactly when Dean parked the car, but you know you’re back at the bunker. With Dean. And he’s not ignoring you this time. 

He carries you bridal style inside, marching with long strides and only a shout of don’t bother knockin’ to Sam. You’ve only ever seen this kind of determination in him during a hunt. 

But he’s a man on a mission. And you have a feeling he’s not going to stop until you can’t walk for a week. 

Worse things have happened.

Dean kicks the door to his room closed, eyes flashing as he looks down at you, and he lowers you carefully down onto the bed. 

You stare at him, mouth hanging open, and his mattress is so soft. The whole room smells like Dean, and he’s towering over you, tracing his hand gently over your face like he’s trying to memorize you with every touch. 

“Lie down, baby.” He mutters, and you nod crawling backwards until your head is settled on the pillows. 

Dean groans, prowling slowly over you and dragging your knees apart.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.” He mutters, playing with the hem of your bottoms and holding your gaze. “You wanna know how often I’ve imagined you in here? Lyin’ down just like this, all ready for me, all mine?”

You shake your head, a little at a loss for words, and Dean smirks.

“Every goddamn night.” He leans down, brushing his lips over yours. “These sheets already know who you are, pretty girl. They’ve heard me callin’ for you.”

This still feels like a dream. A hot, wet dream where Dean’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. 

“Dean-“

He silences you with a deep, long kiss, and there’s so much electricity buzzing through you, that alone almost sends you over the edge. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, pressing another, sloppy kiss to your neck. “I’ve gotcha. Arms up.”

You obey his low command, and Dean undresses you with a slow, taunting deliberation. His eyes are locked onto yours the entire time, as he drags your shirt over your head and unhooks your bra with a single hand. Calloused, warm fingers cup your breasts for a moment and his gaze drops, filled with a gentle awe as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

“God-“ Your breath hitches, even as you roll your eyes. “Dean, you’ve seen them before-“

“Yeah, but they never get any less hot.” He mutters, grinning at you and his hands travel lower.

“Dork.” You mumble, and he just laughs. 

“Save the dirty talk, sweetheart. Haven’t even given you that first orgasm yet.”

You blink at him—you’d forgotten that promise—and before you can ask if he’s serious, Dean picks your legs up and pulls off your pants. Every word vanishes into a lustful daze as he kisses your ankle, then your knee, drawing a line with his mouth right up to your inner thighs. 

He sucks a tiny, mark on the soft skin, keeping your hips angled up with hands on your ass, and you grab at the sheets as your need for him grows painful. 

“I- More, Dean, more-“ You gasp as he open mouth kisses your cunt over your panties, eyes locked onto you and almost glittering with lust.

“So wet,” he teases, repeating the movement. “Always so wet for me, baby girl, and just from thinkin’ about me wrecking this pretty pussy.”

Tears of need start to prick at your eyes. “Dean please-“

“Here’s what gets me off, darling.” He almost growls, and that’s new. Darling. Low and rough, like he adores you. “You, lookin’ at me like you fucking love me. Like just this,” he kisses your inner thigh again, and you shudder. “Is enough. Is it enough, sweetheart?”

No. “I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He smirks at you. “It’s not, is it. You want me to wreck you. Fuckin’ ruin you, make you feel me for a week, show you who owns this pussy.”

“Dean-“

“Cause you own me,” he mutters your name, voice suddenly soft, breath warm over your ruined panties. “You know that, baby. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you-“

“Fuck me.” You almost scream, because any more teasing might kill you. “Just fuck me, Dean, please fuck me, please- Oh-“

He grabs your panties and your breath hitches as he rips them from your body in a single motion. 

“Good girl, usin’ your words.” His thumb brushes over your clit, and you shudder below him. “Turn around.”

You blink at him, too dazed to register his words, and Dean doesn’t wait for you to catch up. He grabs you and flips you onto your stomach, dragging your ass up so you’re fully exposed to him. 

“Jesus.” He mutters, dragging two fingers between the fold over your pussy. “Just for me, huh, baby.”

“Yes.” You breathe out, twisting to try and look at him over your shoulder. “Dean, don’t tease-“

“I’m not teasing.” He winks at you. “Just admiring the view.”

You open your mouth to snap something back, and Dean shoves his face right into your cunt. You fall forwards at the overwhelming feeling of him, making out with your pussy like a man possessed. Swiping his tongue through your arousal, and dragging you back against him as he presses his tongue flat on your clit. You press your face into the mattress as you moan his name, fisting the sheets for some kind of anchor. 

Dean groans against you, the sound reverberating against you and making your grind against his mouth. One of his hands squeeze on your ass as the other rubs up and down on your thigh. You feel his tongue drag around your clit and his arm wraps fully around you, forcing you to stay up as your knees go weak. 

His free hand moves to your clit, rubbing furious, tight circles as his tongue refocuses onto fucking and eating you, and you feel a burning coil in your gut snap. You cum so hard the edge of your vision goes white, but Dean doesn’t stop. He keeps going through your orgasm until you feel like you’re made lightning. You’re arching into and away from his touch, trying to chase more while clawing at the sheets to try and get away from his unrelenting mouth. 

“Dean-“ You whine, trying twist back around but pinned by his grip. “Dean, too much- Can’t take it-“

He pulls back so fast, leaving only one sloppy kiss against you before drawing fully up. 

“You can take it, baby girl.” He mutters, rubbing your thigh gently, and you shiver. “Look at me, darling.”

You twist your face, still pressed into the mattress, and he’s looking at you like you’re an angel. You don’t feel like one. You mostly feel like a hot, needy mess that’s devout to the wrong type of god. 

“I can stop.” He says your name gently, still rubbing your thigh. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” You whisper quickly, and he smirks.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His thumb presses over your clit again, and you whine, turning your face into the mattress as you roll your hips. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. Your head spins around the words, trying to find the divet in them that will let you tear them apart. That means they’re a lie, and this is really all a dream. 

But it’s not. And Dean sounds like he’s saying those words like a vow. 

He grabs your jaw, and gently turns your face for a deep kiss. You hum against his full, perfect lips, then gasp as his cock rubs between your dripping pussy lips.

Dean grins against you, even as a low sound rumbles through him. “Relax.”

You go slack, trusting his words more than almost anything, and Dean kisses your neck, pushing himself into you with one move. 

“Good girl.” He starts to trail the kisses up spine, hands wandering over your body, touching and groping every bit of you he can reach. “So fuckin’ tight, baby, every damn time, drives me crazy.”

He pulls almost fully out, grabbing your hips to keep you steady, and slams fully back into you. 

A broken sound falls between your lips, and you shudder and clench around him. That’s all it fucking took, with all his teasing from before. Your face presses into the mattress as your toes curl and you start to feel limp, but Dean doesn’t let you hide. His arm wraps around your stomach, hauling you up onto all fours as he starts to fuck into you with a rough, unforgiving pace. 

“One more, baby, you got one more.” He kneads at your hips, filling you up over and over, slamming over every sensitive spot inside of you. “So tight, my pretty girl, fuckin’- Hell yes-“

“Dean- Dean-“ You keep fluttering around him as he groans your name, unable to keep yourself up, and you can’t remember any other words. “Dean-“

He understands, not breaking pace as he pulls you up against his chest and grabs your throat. Kissing you with an open mouth and moans as the angle lets him hit deeper. 

You grab his arm, staring at him with an open, adoring expression. He’s always handsome, but it’s never sharper than when he lets go. Then when he envelops you with his everything, when you can feel him everywhere. You shake in his arms, lost in the taste of him and lewd sounds of sex filling his room. 

You don’t even see this one coming. Dean fingers find your clit again, right as his movement get staggered, and pleasure washes through you. It makes you float, so high that it feels like you’re never going to come down. It feels so good, you might be crying from how much it is, but then Dean kisses your cheeks. Mutters your name in your ear as you sink backwards into him, and ruts into your abused cunt as he falls over the edge with you. 

You just smile a little stupidly at the air as Dean heaves behind you, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

He lowers down onto his knees, keeping you pressed against him, and he looks just as wrecked as you feel. He kisses your cheek once, before turning you onto your back and lowering you back down to the mattress. 

His mattress. 

You’re lying on Dean’s mattress, where he’s never let anyone else sleep before. Where he said it made this real. 

And it is real. He really loves you. 

When he tries to rise back up—probably to do something stupid and romantic—you find enough strength to grab him. 

He looks down at you with raised brows, and you just keep smiling at him. 

“What’s wrong, darling.” He mutters, and you giggle. 

“No. I just love you.”

His lips twitch, his voice still rough. Like he can’t fully believe it either. “Yeah?”

You nod eagerly, and Dean grins. 

Time feels frozen. Just you and Dean, smiling at each other in the low light, his hands on your so careful, still trying not to break you. 

You don’t care if he does. 

He knows just how to put you back together.